


A Weekend at Hisao's

by themocaw



Category: Katawa Shoujo
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themocaw/pseuds/themocaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted to http://ks.renai.us/viewtopic.php?f=52&t=5361<br/>-----</p><p>One year after Shizune's good ending, she and Hisao decide to spend some time together in Hisao's home town getting to know his family and friends. The end result is a little bit of smut, a little bit of drama, some humor, and a lot of feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At the Train Station

She waves at me over the heads of the crowd. I wave back and step aside, waiting for the other passengers to walk by. She is grinning excitedly, like a little kid on Christmas morning, as she literally skips towards me and flings herself into my arms for a nice, tight hug, which I am, of course, more than happy to provide.  
  
[You have no idea how much I need this,] Shizune signs, after we finish our hug and finally let go. [College has been hell.]  
  
[You should have chosen a nice, relaxing subject, like science, then,] I sign back, grinning, [instead of something stressful like business].  
  
[Hypocrite. You were the one sending me email after email about how much you hate your lab classes.]  
  
[Temporary insanity,] I joke. [I must have been delirious from having so much fun. Is that everything you packed?] I ask, gesturing to the small duffel bag slung over one shoulder.  
  
[I'm traveling light,] Shizune signs back, as we leave the train station. [No books, no laptop, just the essentials.]  
  
She looks fantastic. In the three months since we've last seen each other, she's grown her hair out from its old chin-length pageboy cut to about shoulder length, tied up into a high ponytail. A pair of small, tasteful diamond studs adorn her pierced ears, offsetting the diamond pendant hanging from the silver chain around her neck. She's dressed in a black turtleneck and a short, pleated skirt in a red tartan pattern, the hem of the garment ending an enticing couple of inches above the tops of her thigh-length black stockings. She's exchanged her old glasses for a pair of elegant black half-frames. Taken individually, each element works for her. Taken as a whole, the effect is nothing short of stunning.  
  
She catches me staring at her, and she grins. [Like what you see?] she signs.  
  
[Love it,] I reply. [You look great.]  
  
[You don't look so bad yourself,] She signs back. [I like the new haircut.]  
  
I grin sheepishly and rub the back of my neck. [I had organic chemistry last semester. I got sick of my hair always getting in my face with my hands full of glassware, so cut it shorter.]  
  
[It looks great. Very professional. My father, however, would not approve.] She pauses, stands up straight, and strikes an arrogant, condescending pose, one hand resting on her duffel bag as if on the hilt of a sword. [Short hair! Long hair is the sign of a true man! Short hair is for convicts and delinquents! And that blazer! Only lawyers and tax collectors wear blazers! Disgraceful. . .]  
  
I roll my eyes, and Shizune giggles silently, putting her hand over her mouth as her eyes scrunch up with delight at my annoyance. [Your father still thinks I'm a useless piece of crap that won't ever amount to anything,] I say, as we walk down the stairs and towards the bus stop. [I could fly to the moon and bring back a moon rock, and he'd complain that in his day, they would have brought back two.]  
  
Shizune rolls her eyes, but she does not disagree. [I sympathize. There's a lot about me that my father doesn't approve of either.]  
  
[Oh? What now?] I ask, feeling my hackles rise. If he's been giving her a hard time about not talking again, I swear I'll. . .   
  
[Well,] Shizune signs impishly, a smirk quirking up her lips into a catlike smile. [For one thing, I'm not wearing panties right now.]  
  
I blink and blush bright red.  
  
Shizune's smirk turns into a sly grin. [Want me to prove it?]  
  
I immediately divert us away from the crowd and into an alleyway behind the train station. She's already undoing my pants as we toss our bags down and start kissing. She comes up for air with her face flushed red with desire and her breathing heavy and low with arousal. I move in for another kiss, but she pushes me gently away and leans back against the wall. She pulls up her skirt. She wasn't lying.  
  
It's always been like this. For Shizune, it's the thrill of possibly being caught. Whether it's in the student council room back at high school, or tied to a chair in her parents' guest bedroom, or in a back alley behind the train station, nothing turns my girlfriend on like thinking that, at any time, that someone could see her in the throes of making mad, passionate love to me.  
  
Screwing her against a dirty wall in a dark alley behind a train station isn't my idea of romance, but I proceed manfully onward, putting my own squeamishness aside. She throws her head back and grabs me close, gasping wordlessly as I come in hard and fast. A little too hard and fast: a sudden flutter in my chest reminds me of the limits I need to respect, and I slow down into a somewhat more measured pace, taking deep, long breaths. With time, the tunnel vision recedes, and I'm able to simply enjoy this moment.  
  
I'm already starting to feel myself nearing the breaking point, much quicker than her body language tells me she is. I try going through the various hydrocarbon functional groups by memory, including formula, structure, and nomenclature. Her body starts to tense up just as I'm visualizing the molecular structure of ethylene. She bites down on my shoulder to stifle her shuddering cry of pleasure just as I finish working through the steps of the hydroformylation of the same into propionaldehyde.   
  
After that, I forget about chemistry for a bit and concentrate on wild, passionate, animal sex. It doesn't take much longer after that.  
  
I take a moment to wipe her off with my handkerchief, then do the same for myself as Shizune dusts herself off and rearranges her hair. I toss the soiled cloth into the trash as we walk out of the alleyway. The bus stop is empty except for us, so we sit down together on the bench and wait for the next bus to come by.  
  
[Thank you,] Shizune signs after a bit.   
  
[For what?]  
  
[For. . . indulging me,] she says, blushing a bit sheepishly. [For putting up with my perverted tastes.]  
  
[It's fun for me too,] I admit. [But next time. . . let's do it the way I like.]  
  
[A little wine, a little music, some candlelight? Falling asleep in each others' arms afterwards?]  
  
[Well. . .] I admit. [We don't have to fall asleep. . . seems like a waste of time when there's so much else we could be doing. . .]  
  
Shizune grins at me wolfishly, then reaches up to put my arm around her waist. She leans her head against my shoulder and closes her eyes, and we sit there, waiting in companiable silence, for the bus to arrive.  
  
It's going to be a good weekend. I can feel it.


	2. A Dark and Empty House

Is there a word that means the opposite of nostalgia? If so, I guess that's what I felt as I come home, yet again, to a dark and empty house. It's something I'd done so many times before as a child and as a teenager, that doing it again now that I'm home from college seems familiar, but not in a good way.  
  
On the other hand, I'm not alone this time.  
  
Shizune nods and looks around appreciatively as I close the front door behind us. [I'm home,] she signs to me, smiling impishly.  
  
[Welcome home,] I sign back, giving her a slight smile.  
  
She takes a moment to step out of her shoes (a rather stylish pair of strappy black heels) and step into a pair of house slippers I hand her. She heads over to a framed photograph on the wall: a family portrait featuring me and my parents sitting in a photo studio. It's a picture that we had taken the day before I entered high school: I'm wearing a black German-style uniform with the straight collar, rather than the green blazer and tie of Yamaku. She runs a hand over the glass thoughtfully, then smiles. [You've got chubby cheeks in this picture,] she signs to me.  
  
[I lost a lot of weight when I went into the hospital,] I reply. [About ten kilos, I think.]  
  
Shizune purses her lips and nods quietly. [I'm sorry,] she signs.  
  
[Don't be. I needed to lose the weight, anyway.] I reply.  
  
Shizune nods and drops the subject. A few moments later, I see her eyes light up as she runs over to another framed photograph. . . or set of photographs. . . at the foot of the stairs. She gets a huge, mischievous grin as she points to one of the photos. [I see Hisao's first kiss!]  
  
Oh lord, not that one . . . [I was four years old!] I protest. [I don't even remember her name!]  
  
[How mean!] Shizune teases. [What a terrible thing to do, to break a young girl's maiden heart like that!]  
  
[It was just little kids playing,] I insist. [I think she kissed me because I gave her a piece of candy or something.]  
  
Shizune smirks. [A kiss for some candy, hm? What would you give me for. . .] She doesn't finish the sentence, instead licking her lips and raising her eyebrow suggestively.  
  
I have to laugh at that. [You're insatiable.]  
  
[It's been three months,] she points out. [I'm making up for lost time. Let's do it.]  
  
[What, right here?]  
  
Shizune rolls her eyes. [Hisao,] she signs, very seriously. [What if your parents come home? I know you think I'm pretty daring, but I don't want to be naked the first time I meet my boyfriends' parents.]  
  
She's got a point. [My bedroom, then.]  
  
She smiles and nods, holding her hand out to me. I take her by the hand and lead her up the stairs to my old room.  
  
I'd be lying if it said it hadn't changed a bit since when I was in high school, but its close. The poster of Goku fighting Freiza still hangs over my bed in a place of honor. A few old ribbons and awards from elementary and junior high school are pinned to a bulletin board over my desk. On the opposite side, a small television set with an old Playstation console hooked up to it. There's a Dragon Quest game still in the disc drive. If I recall correctly, it's the game that I was playing the night before I went out into the woods to meet up with Iwanako.  
  
Shizune nods appreciatively as she looks around. [Nice room,] she signs.  
  
[It's all right,] I reply. I take a deep breath. [Do you want to take a shower?] I ask.  
  
Shizune glances up at the posters, then the mischievous grin that she's had since downstairs broadens into a positively wicked grin. Before I realize what she's doing, she's lifted up my mattress and is feeling between it and the box spring. A look of triumph comes over her as she finds what she was looking for. . . and pulls out an old ecchi magazine.  
  
"Hey, stop that!" I shout, making a grab for her. Shizune dodges away, still grinning smugly like a cat that's just caught an entire flock of birds, as she flips through the pages, making appreciative expressions at various points. [Geez, I thought I threw that away,] I sign at her.  
  
Shizune doesn't respond, mostly because she's too busy flipping pages and looking at the photographs. One of them in particular catches her eye, and she holds it up to show it to me: an image of a busty girl in a bikini posing on a beach, giving the camera a coquettish look as she crosses her arms under her breasts. Shizune tosses down the magazine and replicates the pose exactly. I have to laugh.  
  
She gives me another grin, then bounces up to give me a kiss on the lips: slow and gentle, almost comfortable in its softness. I return it with a little more passion, only to have her pull away and put a finger to my lips, shaking her head. [Shower,] she signs.  
  
My offer to accompany her into the bath is rebuked. [No peeking, either. That's breaking the rules,] she insists, before closing the door behind her.  
  
I take the time to head down to the kitchen and arrange for a few snacks. A bottle of white wine I've had chilling in the refrigerator since last night: some strawberries I bought this morning, a couple of chocolates, and one last thing that I hope she'll appreciate. I put them all on a tray and bring it up the stairs to my bedroom, putting it down on my desk just as the bathroom door opens and Shizune steps out.  
  
She's wearing a light blue bathrobe of some flimsy, cottony material that doesn't really conceal what it covers, so much as accentuate it. She's got her hair up in her towel as she walks into my room, drying her hair off. [I'm done,] she signs.   
  
[All right. Have a snack if you want. Just don't uncover that covered plate,] I reply.   
  
[Oh? What's under there?]  
  
[A surprise. No cheating.]  
  
My girlfriend rolls her eyes again. I fight the urge to tear the bathrobe off and take her right then and there: I want this to go perfectly, and it won't do to go for it while still smelling of sweat and that dank alleyway behind the train station.   
  
I'll admit, however, that I shower as quickly as possible, given the circumstances.  
  
By the time I come out of the bathroom in my bathrobe, Shizune's poured two glasses of the wine and is sipping at one of them, alternating between small sips and bites of strawberry. She passes me the other, and we clink the glasses together before each taking a deep, satisfying draught. She takes me by the hand, then, and pulls me down onto my bed, reaching up to cup my face in her hands and give me a slow, sensual kiss. Her hair flares around her in an ebony halo as she falls back onto the sheets, her face flushed pink with desire as she runs a hand down the front of my robe, tugging lazily at the belt. . .   
  
The sound of the front door opening is like a needle scratching against the phonograph of my mind. "Hisao! We're home!" I hear my mother call out.  
  
Shizune frowns at the sudden change in my expression. [What's wrong?]  
  
[My parents are home,] I sign back.  
  
[Oh. . . no. . .] She gives a little groan of frustration. [I thought you said they were working late tonight.]  
  
[They're home early. Of all the days. . .]   
  
"Hisao?" my mother calls again. "Are you home?"  
  
I stifle a frustrated scream into my pillow, then take a deep breath. "We're here, Mom," I shout back.  
  
"Come on down, then."  
  
"In a minute." I look down at my extremely disappointed girlfriend and shrug my shoulders in resignation.  
  
[It can't be helped, I guess,] Shizune signs back. [Let's go.]


	3. Dinner With the Family

Despite my suggestion to the contrary, Shizune and I take a moment to get dressed before we head downstairs. [I don't care how annoyed we are right now, I am not meeting your parents for the first time in my nightgown,] she insists. My further suggestion that we forgo the nightgown entirely is met with an angry glare that could kill a walrus at a hundred paces.  
  
Her prior outfit being somewhat the worse for wear due to our extracurricular activities, Shizune decides to change into a pale blue blouse and black skirt and stockings, while I change into a button-down shirt and slacks. After a quick look in the mirror and a minute adjustment of her hair and earrings, we head downstairs to meet my parents.  
  
My father, at least, has the good grace to look a little embarassed, as he reads his newspaper intently, trying to ignore the fact that it's taken me and my girlfriend about fifteen minutes just to come downstairs and we've obviously both had showers quite recently, what with the damp hair and all. My mother, on the other hand, disgustingly cheerful woman that she is, seems not to take notice of this at all. "My my, this must be Shizune," she says. "We've heard so much about you from Hisao. It's so nice to meet you at last."  
  
[My mother says "Hi,"] I sign to my girlfriend.  
  
Shizune nods back then, to my surprise, takes a rather expensive-looking smartphone from her skirt pocket. She taps the screen a few times, and a synthesized voice says, "Hello. It's very good to meet you both. Please take good care of me while I am here." She bows deeply and respectfully to my parents.  
  
"My, what good manners! And so beautiful as well. You're even prettier than in the photos Hisao emailed to us. Come, sit down." She pats the couch next to her. I take a seat in the armchair across from them as my girlfriend sits down.  
  
The conversation that follows isn't all that interesting: the usual probing questions any mother would ask her son's new girlfriend (family, plans for the future, things like that,) but it's a little awkward nonetheless: not only because my mother doesn't know sign language and I have to translate for her, but because of my father constantly looking back and forth between me and my girlfriend with a thoughtful expression. Eventually, he interrupts by clearing his throat and folding up his newspaper. "Dear," he says, firmly. "I'm sure these two are hungry. Perhaps we should start getting dinner ready?"  
  
"Oh my, of course," my mother says, "where are my manners? I hope you like sukiyaki, dear. It's our special family recipe."  
  
"Let me give you a hand, dear," my father says, getting to his feet. "Meanwhile, Hisao can show Shizune around the house."  
  
I give my father a grateful look as he nods and walks with my mother into the kitchen. Shizune sighs and stretches out, the tension seeming to leave her body. [Your parents are nice,] she signs to me.  
  
[They're not bad,] I admit. [The thing with the phone. Where did you find it?]  
  
[It's an app originally meant for translating things into another language,] Shizune explains. [It's a pain to use for long conversations, but. . . meeting your parents for the first time demanded something special. I wouldn't feel right making my greetings to them using your voice. . . or just a piece of paper.]  
  
Technically, it's not her voice either, but I can kind of see her point. [My mom seems to like you, at least. I haven't seen her talk this much in years.]  
  
[Maybe it's because she likes me more than you?] Shizune says, grinning mischievously.  
  
[I think she's just happy that I finally brought home a girlfriend. They were starting to worry about me.] I hesitate. [I wasn't. . . a very sociable kid.]  
  
Shizune smiles sympathetically. [Show me your house, Hisao?] She puts her arm in mine, and I give her the grand tour.   
  
It doesn't take too long. There isn't much to show that she hasn't already seen. However, something catches her eye as we walk back into the living room: something that had been hidden behind the big armchair from where she was sitting while talking with my mother. I know what it is even before she kneels down and takes it off the bottom shelf.  
  
[Oh. . . that,] I say. [It belonged to my grandfather. My father tried to get me into it, but it never really appealed. I guess it felt like an old man game to me.]  
  
Shizune nods. She runs a hand over the dust-covered goban, tracing the black grid pattern on the surface. A contemplative look crosses her face, and she adjusts her glasses.  
  
That's about when my mother calls us into the dining room for dinner.  
  
\-----  
  
Shizune puts down her chopsticks and clasps her hands together, mouthing the words, "Thanks for the meal." My mother smiles happily in response as she picks up the plates and busses them to the sink.  
  
Dinner, as usual, was wonderful. My family doesn't eat together often, but when we do, my mother always tries to make it a special occasion. Sukiyaki is one of her best dishes, and she's justifiably proud of her family recipe.  
  
"Delicious, as always, dear," my father says, getting to his feet.  
  
[Hisao,] my girlfriend signs to me. [You should help your mother with the dishes.]  
  
[Why?]  
  
[Don't be ungrateful. Just do it.]  
  
I shrug and pick up the dishes to carry to my mother in the kitchen. She's got That Look again, and I know better than to try to get in the way of my girlfriend when she's on a mission.  
  
As I get the last of the plates, Shizune is in the living room writing something down on her notepad and handing it to my father. When I come back to get the wok, the two of them already have the board set up and are taking their first moves, Shizune playing black.  
  
When I come back out to wipe down the table, the game is in full swing. My father scratches his chin as he considers the board position, then places his stone slowly, deliberately, with a solid clicking sound. Shizune's hand moves in a sudden slashing motion, as she places her piece with confidence and flair. My father nods silently, picks up his next stone, considers his options, then places it with a carefully precise motion.   
  
I take out the burnable trash, and when I return, Shizune's face has lost its confidence, and she's frowning in intense concentration. I take a look at the board and realize that black is in trouble: white has an extremely strong board position, and is quickly starting to edge black into the center. If Shizune's not careful, she's going to end up losing a lot of territory.  
  
It's like a moment from a samurai movie, with two swordsmen standing across from each other in a grassy field, each waiting for the other to make a mistake. My father is watching my girlfriend with the intensity of a hawk. My girlfriend's lips are pursed in thought, her piece perched between her fingertips, hovering over her bowl of stones, her eyes darting across the board from place to place, considering her options carefully.  
  
Suddenly, Shizune's eyes widen, and she grins. She snaps her stone down onto the board with a loud, sharp sound. It sounds almost exactly like her trademark finger-snap: a bold, brassy declaration of herself.  
  
My father looks down at the board, and his eyes widen as well. His intense facade breaks, and he smiles at my girlfriend. Shizune smiles back boldly. He gives her a respectful nod, then snaps his next piece down with a precise click.  
  
The game goes for another hour or so, the sound of the pieces clicking against the polished oak wood forming a counterpoint to the evening news on the television. It's nearly 10 pm by the time my father and my girlfriend tally up the points and bow to each other over the board. Shizune writes something down in her notebook, and my father smiles as he reads it. He writes something back to her, and the two of them exchange a pleased, knowing grin.  
  
"Did you enjoy your game?" my mother asks, looking up from her magazine.  
  
"It was. . . fun," my father says thoughtfully. He scratches his chin and gives me another one of his contemplative looks. "Dear?" he says to my mother. "I'm running low on cigarettes. Let's go for a walk."  
  
"I think I saw another pack in your dresser drawer," my mother says.  
  
"It's not the brand I want. Come on," my father says. He takes my mother by the hand and leads her out of the room.  
  
Shizune stretches out her back, sighing and rubbing her knees: not too surprising, as she's been kneeling in front of the go board for over an hour. [Your father is a wily man,] she signs to me. [That was one of the toughest games I've ever played.]  
  
[Who won?]  
  
[He did, but only by a few points.] She holds her hand out to me, and I help her to her feet. She doesn't let go of my hand, though, and instead plants a gentle kiss on the inside of my wrist. She presses the hand to her face, just enjoying the feel of my warm skin against her soft flesh. She places another kiss on the palm of my hand, then falls into my arms, snuggling into my chest.  
  
I'm suddenly very aware that we're in the house alone.   
  
Was this her plan?  
  
Did she actually make a bet with my father to give us some time alone tonight?  
  
She reaches up to her throat and begins to slowly unbutton her blouse.  
  
I decide it doesn't particularly matter.  
  
She shrugs out of her blouse and unclasps her skirt, lets it fall to the ground. She stands before me wearing her favorite black bra and panties, her eyes smouldering with passion, mixed with. . . something else.   
  
Triumph.   
  
I'm pushed down onto the couch, and she crawls over to me like a lioness claiming her kill. She straddles my stomach, pulls me in close, kisses me hard and strong. She tastes like salt and meat, soy sauce and cabbage. I guess that doesn't sound like the most romantic thing in the world.  
  
I honestly couldn't give a crap. I'm madly in love with this girl. In this place, at this time, nothing else really matters.


	4. On the Couch, in the Bedroom, and Tied To the Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally three chapters, I've combined them into a single extended smut scene. Skip this if you don't like smut.

I'm pushed down onto the couch, and she crawls over to me like a lioness claiming her kill. She straddles my stomach, pulls me in close, kisses me hard and strong. She tastes like salt and meat, soy sauce and cabbage. I guess that doesn't sound like the most romantic thing in the world.  
  
I honestly couldn't give a crap. I'm madly in love with this girl. In this place, at this time, nothing else really matters.  
  
She comes up from my kiss with a wicked, mischievous smile, licking her lips as she sits up straight. I try to sit up as well, but she pushes me back down onto the couch, wagging her finger at me like a schoolteacher scolding a child. [The name of the game,] she signs to me, [is "Don't Move."]  
  
I grin at her. [I love this game,] I admit.  
  
Shizune frowns at me and slaps my hands away as I try to sign. I acquiesce and put my hands behind my head instead. She nods to me from her perch straddling my knees then carefully removes her glasses and puts them down on the coffee table. She reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra. The lacey black garment slips off her shoulders, allowing her firm, ample breasts to fall free.  
  
I swallow hard and blink, interlacing my fingers together behind my head as I glance over at the clock. This is the game: I am to sit perfectly still on the couch, while Shizune does whatever she wants to me. If, at any time, I move from my sitting position without my girlfriend's permission, I have lost. Losing the game means that Shizune gets to do whatever she wants to me. If I can last at least ten minutes without moving, however, Shizune will be the one who needs to do what I command.  
  
So far, we've played this game about nine times. My record is 3 wins, 6 losses. On the other hand, I do have to admit to throwing the game a few times. Losing, after all, can be fun too.  
  
Shizune crawls up into my lap, cupping her breasts in her hands, her head tilted at a coquettish angle. She runs a cool, slender finger down my forehead, over my nose, my lips, and my chin. She undoes the buttons of my shirt, one by one, then traces that finger down over the sensitive scar tissue over my sternum. I close my eyes hard and inhale deeply.  
  
Her hands splay over my bare chest. Her fingers trace the line of my collarbone before sliding down and taking hold of my nipples, pinching them tightly, but not too painfully. She tugs at them, letting the now-stiff flesh slip through her fingertips.  
  
I open my eyes again. She's grinning. She lowers herself off my lap and begins to lick playfully at my nipples. I close my eyes again and breathe deeply, feeling myself return to equilibrium. If I can just keep this up for another few minutes. . .   
  
I feel the zipper of my pants lower, and my eyes snap open. Oh no. . . not this. She's fighting dirty now! With careful, practiced motions, she undoes my belt and eases me out of my boxers. Then, kneeling before me, she squeezes her breasts together, squeezing my poor, beleaguered cock between those dastardly warm mounds, before slipping the tip between her rose-petal lips.   
  
Treachery! Evil, evil woman! How can any red-blooded man resist such an assault upon his resolve?  
  
I squeeze my eyes shut and bite my lip hard, stifling my moan of pleasure as her tongue plays across the sensitive tip. My hands tighten hard around the back of my neck as she strokes her warm tits up and down my hard shaft. Then, with a smooth, practiced motion, she releases me from the fleshy prison of her cleavage. . . and takes my entire length into her mouth.  
  
I let out a low groan of pleasure, trying to distract myself with the memories of the first time she'd ever tried this: not knowing what to expect, she'd ended up gagging herself on me, and ended up having a nasty coughing fit and nearly throwing up. Not exactly sexy at all, right? Right? Keep remembering that, and. . . oh damn it, now she's cupping me just the way I like, digging her long fingernails just a little bit into my sensitive skin. . .  
  
She comes back up for air with a gasp. I allow myself to breathe again. I glance over at the clock. Just a little while longer. . . I'm almost there.  
  
Shizune looks at me with a frustrated expression. . . then she suddenly takes her fingertips and pokes me in the ribs.  
  
"FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF--!" I gasp, squirming away from her touch. Oh no no no no no. . . she's going for the nuclear option! I can't. . . aaaaaagh!  
  
I grab at her wrists as I squirm away from her tickling hands, letting out a cry of dismay as I push her away from me. Shizune leaps to her feet and punches the air triumphantly: a victorious warrior clad only in panties and stockings. [I win!] she signs, gleefully. [Now you have to do anything I say!]  
  
[Not fair!] I complain. [Tickling's against the rules!]  
  
[No such rule! I win!] Shizune insists. She stifles any further arguments by leaping into my lap and kissing me, hard, with lots of tongue.  
  
I wisely decide not to continue the argument.  
  
[Now!] she signs, as we pull apart. [As the loser, it is your job to carry all our clothes up to the bedroom! I'm going upstairs to get ready to enjoy my reward!] She gives me another kiss on the cheek then jogs upstairs, nearly skipping in her glee. I sigh and start picking up my girlfriend's scattered clothes.   
  
I still think she cheated.

\-----

So when I get up to my room, Shizune has re-lit all the candles and is sitting in my chair, her shapely legs crossed, flexing a riding crop in her hands.  
  
I stare at her with my arms full of her discarded clothing. I really need to have a talk with that girl about her definition of "only the essentials."  
  
I am immediately interrupted by Shizune slapping the riding crop against the palm of her left hand and bringing it down, in a sweeping motion, down and to the side, like a master commanding a dog to heel. I put the pile of clothes down on the ground and sigh. "I still say you cheated," I mumble, as I get down on all fours and crawl over to my girlfriend.   
  
She extends her leg to me, resting the instep of her foot against my chin, lifting up my face so that I'm looking up at her from my position on the ground. She slaps the riding crop against her left hand again, licking her lips in anticipation. Her foot slides down the side of my throat, tickling my sensitive flesh, then brushing down my bare chest, over the scar in my sternum. She gets to her feet and brings her riding crop to a rest position behind her back, then runs a finger under the waistband of her side-tie black lace panties. Obediently, I reach up from my kneeling position and undo the ties: first the left, then the right. The flimsy garment falls free over her shapely hips.  
  
The smell of her arousal hits me hard. From my kneeling position, her moist sex is right there in front of my face, temptingly close. I lean forward and try to bury my face between her legs, only to get a riding crop to the face: not hard enough to be considered even a light blow, but a forceful enough contact to remind me of who is in charge. I sigh. "Damn it," I mutter. "I should have won this one. I should be the one in charge here."  
  
Shizune's eyes glitter: even though she can't understand my words, my expression says enough. She loves it when I complain and resist: I think that's why she lets me win our games, sometimes, so that she can enjoy it all the more to dominate me when she knows that I could do the same to her. A worthy opponent, if you will. She puts her hands on my chest and pushes me onto my back, then follows me down to the ground, straddling my face. Of course. I get to do what I wanted to in the first place, but on her terms. Typical Shizune.  
  
She smells faintly like flowers, which makes me laugh: after an overly honest assessment of what it was like to eat her out, she sprayed perfume over her pubic hair: so much so that it was overpoweringly stifling, compared to her natural scent. I'd made fun of her for that, which got me an embarassed look followed by some anger. It's cute how self-conscious she is about this, but I'm glad she's toned it down, after her initial overreaction. Personally, I couldn't care less, but. . . typical Shizune. Ever the perfectionist.   
  
I tease her a bit at first: instead of plunging right in, I start by licking some of the wetness off her inner thighs, running up the inside of her legs and stopping just short of her warm entrance. Her head is bowed, her eyes closed in bliss. She flexes her riding crop nervously between her hands, biting her lower lip in concentration. I give her another tease: a swift lap of the tongue up one side of her slit, then the other, then a small circle tracing around her clitoris, but never actually touching it.   
  
Shizune gives a little animal growl of frustration at that, and she pushes herself down into my face, grinding herself against my stubbled jawline. I acquiesce to her desires and plunge in. There's a spot right about. . . there. . . where if I do this with my tongue, she'll. . . there it is. She lets out a happy sigh and throws back her head, pushing down harder into me, her thighs tensing up in response. I gasp for another breath and dive back into the fray.  
  
Her first shuddering release isn't the most intense I've ever seen her have: more like a soft rolling wave that makes her give a little sigh of pleasure, followed by a small rush of nectar that washes over my working lips and tongue. I pull back and sigh in relief, working my aching jaw, as my girlfriend dismounts me, her eyes half-lidded with remembered pleasure. [Not bad,] she signs to me, languidly, [but not the best. I give you a seven out of ten.]  
  
I roll my eyes sarcastically and give an exaggerated and exasperated shrug. Shizune smirks, putting her hand to her mouth. [It's not a bad start,] she signs afterwards, [but as the victor in our game, I'm not going to let you rest until I'm completely satisfied with your performance.] She gets to her feet and hops into the bed, bouncing up and down a couple of times. [Now, get over here and take off your pants.]

Shizune throws back her head and lets out a moan of pleasure as she lowers herself down upon me. Her wet warmth envelops me fully as she bears down hard. Her breasts bounce as she rocks against my body, her hands braced upon my chest, her slender, yet curvaceous form writhing in her pleasure. Her full, soft bosom heaves every time I penetrate her, with every shudder of pleasure from her sex grinding against my hips. I long to reach up and take those pink nipples in my mouth, to cup her full breasts in my hands and run my hands down her smooth, sweat-traced sides.   
  
I'd really love to do all that, but I can't, because Shizune's got me tied to the damn bed.  
  
"There are times when I really hate you," I mutter through gritted teeth, as I surge forward against my bindings, trying to move against her naked body, longing to feel all of her pressed against my skin. Shizune grins at me and leans back a bit, giving me a wonderful view of her naked curves, licking her lips deviously as she continues to grind herself into me, supporting herself with her hands. "Seriously," I gasp. "You're outright infuriating sometimes."  
  
She can see from my face that I'm frustrated. She loves that. She loves it so much she stops her bucking against me and, with a supreme force of will, pushes down against me and. . . stops. Her eyes are wickedly hot. She bites her lower lip as she gently grinds against me. It's her favorite trick for, as she puts it, "making me stew in my lust."  
  
It generally works pretty well.  
  
[Do you hate me now?] she signs, sitting up on me and giving me a few playful bounces. [I bet you're hating me right now. I should leave you tied to the bed and go to sleep instead of letting you finish.] An empty threat: the warm blush in her cheeks, and the excited trembling of her pale, hourglass figure, betrays the excitement she tries to mask behind sensual detachment. On the other hand, it wouldn't be Shizune if she didn't turn this into a game of some sort.  
  
A game. . . ?  
  
I glance up at the scarves tying me to the bed. I remember Shizune fussing over the knots a bit when she first did them. A little too much for a simple square knot, which is all that she really needed to keep me tied down. . . if that's what she really wanted from me.   
  
Shizune bucks against me one more time, making me groan in pleasure. I open my eyes after another delightful thrill, staring carefully at the knots tying me down. Actually, now that I think about it, they're not really tied down all that tightly. In fact, if I can just do. . . this. . . and this. . . maybe this. . .   
  
I twist my wrists inside the soft silk binding, causing it to dig into my flesh, but pulling the knot closer and closer to my fingers. Shizune leans down and bites my lower lip: not hard enough to draw blood, but certainly hard enough for me to feel it. I give a growl of anger and manage to pinch the loose end of the scarf between my thumb and finger.   
  
I give it a tug and feel the knot loosen.  
  
I surge out of my bindings like a hound slipped from its chains. With one hand loose, it's a matter of only a moment before I untie the other as well. Shizune's eyes ignite with delighted triumph as I rise up from the bed and push her off me. She tumbles against the bedroom wall with a solid thump that rattles the framed photos on my walls. I grab her by the shoulders and push her down into the mattress, gazing down into those excited dark eyes. "All right," I hiss. "My turn."  
  
I fuck her. It's the only way to describe it: ugly, raw, and intense, filled with animalistic passion. "Mmmmph!" Shizune moans, the unwanted sound slipping past her silent resolve. I don't particularly care. She wants this, and at this point, I'm more than frustrated enough to give it to her. My hand squeezes her breast hard, mashing the pliant flesh between my fingers, as I grab at her hair near the roots and pull her head back to expose her pale throat. Her legs tighten around my waist, pulling me in, entrapping me inside her. She grabs and claws at my bare back. I feel her fingernails scratch my flesh. All the frustration, all the anger, all the tension that's been building up in me for hours rushes out into a mad dash of wild, desperate sex.  
  
It ends with a stifled scream from my girlfriend as she tightens down hard around me, then again, then again, as I ruthlessly push on towards my own release. I go over the top with a loud gasp, feeling the world turn white.   
  
\-----  
  
Afterwards, I lay gasping on the bed, my hand pressed to my chest, black spots dancing in front of my eyes.   
  
Shizune is straddling me again, but this time, there is no lust in her eyes, only worry. She's stroking my face gently as my breathing slows to a more measured pace, and the danger finally passes.  
  
[I'm sorry,] she signs, at last. [I got carried away.]  
  
[It's okay,] I sign back. [But. . . I think we're done for the night.]  
  
Shizune nods dejectedly. [Are you sure you're okay?]  
  
[I'm fine,] I reassure you. [I've had much worse just lifting and carrying heavy objects.]  
  
Shizune snorts at that and looks offended. [I'm sorry!] I reply. [I didn't mean that. . .]  
  
She grabs my hands: Shizune-talk for "Shut up." She lays herself down, resting her head on my shoulder, and hugs me tight, pressing her naked body against mine.  
  
I pull the sheets around us both, and we fall asleep at last. The last thing I hear is the front door opening and closing, and the sound of my parents' voices, high and almost giggly, as they come up the stairs.


	5. Parenthood and Haggling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally two chapters, I've combined them into one.

Have you ever woken up late, with the sun shining through your bedroom window, the birds singing their joy to the new day, and found yourself next to a beautiful, naked woman whom you've just made love to the night before? An experience like that can make you feel rather smug.  
  
I make no apologies. My life is incredible.   
  
Shizune's curled up next to me like a cat, resting her head on my shoulder. My entire arm below the elbow is falling asleep. I really should move her off and restore some feeling to that arm. I don't want to.  
  
Unfortunately, needs must. I seriously need to pee, and as romantic as it is to stay curled up with her like this in bed forever, biological imperatives must be respected soon unless I want to make my girlfriend furiously angry.  
  
I somehow manage to gently extricate myself from under Shizune's sleeping body and pull on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. I make my way to the bathroom, carry out the neccessary bodily functions, and splash some water onto my face.  
  
I look into the mirror. I look like hell. I have the worst case of bed-head in history. My wrists are chafing a little bit from where Shizune tied me to my headboard with those silk scarf-things that she brought with her (only the essentials: ha!). I know that there are some scratch marks on my back, and I'm pretty sure that there are some tooth impressions somewhere too. Despite it all, I can't stop smiling like a cat that's just caught the biggest damn canary on the planet.  
  
Like I said, I make no apologies.  
  
Coming back from the bathroom, I run into my father coming out of my parents' shared bedroom. His graying hair is flying all over the place, like in that famous photograph of Albert Einstein. There is a strangely smug and satisfied look on his face.  
  
It is a disgustingly familiar expression. I just saw it in the mirror not more than ten minutes ago.  
  
Where did my parents go last night, anyway, that kept them out until nearly 3 am?  
  
My mind immediately cuts off that line of reasoning in self-defense.  
  
My father looks at me a bit sheepishly, then rubs the back of his head.  
  
I clear my throat and lick my lips nervously.  
  
We give each other a respectful nod and continue on our separate ways.  
  
\-----  
  
Shizune's awake when I come back to my bedroom. She sits up on her bed, stretching out languorously like a cat, carelessly naked in the mid-morning light. I stifle an urge to continue last night's activities with a session of morning nookie. My overworked testicles breathe a sigh of relief.  
  
[Morning,] Shizune signs, smiling smugly at me. It's the same look I saw in the mirror and on my father's face.  
  
[Morning,] I reply. I sit down on the bed across from her and favor her with a soft kiss on the lips.  
  
[So, what's the plan for today?] she asks.  
  
[Don't really have anything. I was just thinking I could show you around town a bit, then we can just hang out for the rest of the day.]  
  
[Sounds good. It'll give me a chance to go shopping for tonight.]  
  
[Shopping?]  
  
[I'm cooking dinner for you,] Shizune signs. [And your parents if they're around. Your family sukiyaki recipe is delicious, but I'm very confident in my Korean-style grilled salmon,] she says, grinning audaciously.  
  
Typical Shizune: even dinner is a contest with her. [I hope your cooking's improved since high school,] I reply teasingly.  
  
[I'm going to make you eat those words,] Shizune replies, [right after you eat my cooking.]  
  
[I think you're the one going to get eaten,] I shoot back, looking her over like a hungry lion considering a wounded gazelle. My overworked testicles groan in frustration and prepare to put in a little more overtime for the good of the company.  
  
Shizune puts an end to that line of thought with a careless toss of her head and a sharp snap of her fingers. [Later. After the tour of the town. I love you, Hisao, but I don't intend to spend my entire weekend on my back.] She pauses. [Just a significant portion of it.]  
  
\-----  
  
I come downstairs after taking a shower, taking my pills, and getting dressed to find my parents sitting in the kitchen having breakfast. My father is eating rice and miso soup with one hand as he reads his newspaper with the other. My mother is pottering around in her apron, humming and sashaying like a newlywed bride. "Good morning Hisao!" she says. "Come, sit down and eat."  
  
She looks incredibly happy and disgustingly smug. My train of thought immediately derails in self-defense before it can draw the obvious conclusion. "Morning," I reply cautiously, taking my seat.  
  
My mother serves me an extra-large portion of rice with my soup, and gives me a little kiss on the forehead as she literally skips off. I immediately duck my head and devote myself to eating.   
  
My father puts down his newspaper, clears his throat, and puts something down next to my rice bowl. I glance over. It's one of those little bottles of energy drinks. He gives me a knowing grin.  
  
I nearly choke on my miso soup. My dad laughs.  
  
\-----  
  
[Hisao, are your parents always this happy in the mornings?]  
  
[No, not really.]  
  
Breakfast was a hurried affair, what with me hustling Shizune out the door as quickly as humanly (and politely) possible. I'm no prude, but no young man wants to be in the room when his parents start exchanging THOSE sorts of glances, not to mention the constant smug looks my father kept giving me. It's more than my heart can take.  
  
[They're cute,] Shizune says, smiling wistfully. [They remind me of my parents, when I was little.]   
  
I try to imagine Jigoro Hakamichi as a lovestruck newlywed. The image makes me shudder, as if I were seeing an attack dog wearing a pink tutu. [I find that hard to believe.]  
  
Shizune frowns. [My father wasn't always like. . . how he is now,] she signs. [Back when my mother was alive, he was a lot. . . happier.] She smiles. [He was still just as loud, though. He used to tell me. . .] She strikes a pose, as if she's six inches taller and holding a sword, before going back to signing. ["You're going to be as beautiful as your mother some day. . . so you must marry a man who is cooler than me!"] She mimes her father's uproarious laugh.  
  
I can't help laughing. It occurs to me, though, that this is the first time Shizune has ever told me about her mother. Maybe the same thought occurs to her, because she smiles sadly at me and clasps her hands behind her back. We walk together down the tree-lined path in quiet, companiable silence.  
  
[My mother was very beautiful,] she signs, at last. [She was. . . a true "Japanese Flower," Yamato Nadeshiko. She was very gentle. . . but very strong too. She was the one who put her foot down and made my father stop hiring tutors to try and get me to talk.] A quiet look of reserve comes over my girlfriend's face. [It was the first time I ever saw them fight.]  
  
[It seems like a cruel thing to do to you,] I sign back.  
  
Shizune shakes her head. [He meant well. He never really thought of me as his daughter, you know. . . never expected me to just get married and have kids. He always expected me to be more than just a dutiful housewife: a doctor, a lawyer, a businesswoman, a scientist.] A sour look crosses her face. [My mother once told me that the reason he tried so hard to get me to talk is because. . . being a woman, and deaf, in Japan. . . it's not easy. He wanted to make sure I had every advantage possible, because I was starting with so many disadvantages already.]  
  
[It's still overly cruel to do that to you. For twelve years, too.]  
  
Shizune shakes her head. [My father's stubborn, but he's not stupid. He wouldn't have kept trying if he didn't think it was working.]  
  
Realization sets in. [So it worked?]  
  
Hesitation. [It did. I learned to talk for a while. I stopped talking, though, when I noticed how everyone looked at me when I did.] There is a grim, set look to her lips, and her eyes are elsewhere. . . many years in the past, I think. [I can't hear myself talk, so I never know if I'm being too loud, or too soft, or even if I'm doing it right. Everyone used to stare at me when I spoke. I knew I must sound funny, but I couldn't tell what I was doing wrong, so I could fix it.] She throws her head back defiantly, and that old, familiar, combative look that she has when she sees a challenge flares in her eyes. . . but without that playfulness, that sense of fun, that makes playing games with her such a joy. [I don't like doing things if I can't be the best at it,] she signs, her hands slashing the air like blades.   
  
She clasps her hands behind her back like a soldier, and we walk on, together, in silence. The air is cool and crisp, and the leaves under our feet crunch like snow. Across the park, a group of little kids laugh and scream as they chase each other around the playground in some arcane game whose rules I can't being to figure out. A pair of teenagers, a boy and a girl, sit by the duck pond with sketch pads propped up on their laps: probably working on some school project.  
  
[I love my father,] Shizune signs, as we exit the park and return to the town proper. [But he makes me tired sometimes. I appreciate how he's never treated me any different from Hideaki, even though I'm deaf. But. . . there are some things I just can't do. He never seems to understand that.] She sighs. [And I wish he wouldn't always take it so personally, too. Just because I don't always do what he says doesn't mean I hate him or want to defy him. Idiot.]  
  
I step aside to let a small group of elementary-school kids run by, putting a hand on Shizune's arm so that she doesn't bump into them. It gives me a moment to think. [When I first came to Yamaku, my parents didn't say good-bye. They left me a note on my bed after they unpacked my things,] I explain.  
  
Shizune nods in return. [I hated that. It was just another example of how they never really loved me. Just like how they were always working late nights and were never around to spend time with me. Or how they were never able to come to school festivals or sports days because they were too busy working. Jerks.]  
  
[But,] I go on. [My parents worked their fingers to the bone for twenty yearsto buy the house we live in. They did it because they never had a nice house as kids, and they wanted me to grow up in the kind of house they never had a chance to enjoy. They love that house so much. . . but when I had my heart attack, they wouldn't have hesitated to sell that beautiful home that they'd worked so hard to buy, if it meant I could be cured.]   
  
I blink back the moisture in my eyes and take a deep breath. Shizune places her hand on the crook of my arm. [I guess I'm just trying to say. . . my parents aren't perfect, but they tried their best. I guess that just makes them human, in the end.]  
  
Shizune nods and puts her arm around my waist, squeezing once. I take a deep breath and steady myself, letting the emotions flow out of me like water. [Your dad is still a jerk, though,] I sign.  
  
Shizune giggles silently. [The biggest,] she agrees.

\-----

Shizune holds up the set of blue-and-white striped tights up, giving it a few experimental tugs to test the quality of the fabric. She turns back to me and holds both pairs up for my appraisal: both the blue-and-white striped ones and the black ones with the red spiderweb pattern. I sigh and nod towards the blue-and whites. My girlfriend frowns in response and puts them back down for a moment. [Why those?] she asks.  
  
[The other one seems too. . . ummm. . . punkish? I guess. For someone like Hideaki,] I point out. [Wait. Why am I helping you pick out tights for your brother, anyway?]  
  
[Because I promised to get him a souvenir. And he likes this sort of thing.]   
  
[Your brother is weird.]  
  
[I know,] Shizune says. [Now help me out with the cashier.] She picks up the merchandise and carries it to the bored-looking man leaning on the glass counter.  
  
The cashier nods to me as he counts out the tights, checking the tags and making a quick mental calculation. "That will be two thousand yen," he says.  
  
[Two thousand yen,] I sign to Shizune.  
  
[Unacceptable. This is highway robbery. I won't go any higher than one thousand.]  
  
I sigh. This is the part I hate. "We'll pay one thousand," I tell the cashier.  
  
"Five hundred each? These are designer tights. Major label! Two thousand is a bargain!"  
  
[He's insisting on two thousand,] I sign back to Shizune. [Says they're designer.]  
  
[These are cotton tights. I'm not paying a thousand yen for a pair of cotton tights, no matter who designed them. Twelve hundred for both of them.]  
  
I take a deep breath. "They're designer tights, but still cotton. Maybe you could go down to about six hundred each?" I say.  
  
"What, are you stupid? This isn't your every day cotton. This is the good stuff. Egyptian, long-staple. Pharaohs slept on this stuff!" the cashier complains. "I'm not going lower than eighteen hundred!"  
  
[He said eighteen hundred,] I translate.  
  
[Great, he's willing to haggle. Fourteen hundred for both. No higher.]  
  
"I guess we could see ourselves paying as much as fourteen hundred," I admit. Behind me a lady holding a couple of sweaters waits patiently for her turn at the register.  
  
The cashier sighs and rubs his forehead. "Look, I'll go down as low as sixteen hundred, but that's it."  
  
[He says sixteen hundred.]  
  
[Tell him one thousand five hundred.]  
  
"How about one thousand five hundred?" I ask. I glance behind me again. There are now two people waiting in line for the cashier.  
  
"Sixteen hundred," he says, glaring at Shizune.  
  
[Sixteen hundred,] I sign. [I don't think he's going to go any lower.]  
  
[I bet we could get him down to fifteen hundred,] Shizune signs back. A third person is now waiting in line. The lady with the sweaters is biting her lower lip and looking at her watch.  
  
[Just pay the man already,] I sign back, frustrated. [What's the big deal? It's one hundred yen.]  
  
[One hundred yen can buy a bag of chips or an ice cream cone. It's actually quite a bit of money, you know.]  
  
[Look, I'll give you the hundred yen, let's just get out of here, before the other customers kill us.]  
  
[Fine.] Shizune rolls her eyes and counts the one bill and two coins from her wallet.   
  
I give the cashier a weak smile. He glares at us as we walk away.  
  
\-----  
  
[Do you have to do that every time?] I ask later, as we're sitting on the roof of the shopping center, having lunch.  
  
[It would be shameful not to haggle,] Shizune replied. [It is the honor of a merchant to get as much money as possible. . . and it is the buyer's honor to haggle for the best price.] She snaps her fingers and adjusts her glasses, a smug look on her face. [Shopping is war! Take no prisoners!]  
  
What is this, the Sengoku Era? Before I can reply, Shizune has picked up her hamburger and is taking a big bite. She smiles happily as she chews and swallows before taking a big sip of her soda. I sigh and pick up my own burger.  
  
"Hisao?"  
  
I turn to see a tall young man wearing a khaki blazer standing behind me, holding a plastic tray with two hot dog sets. For a moment, I don't remember who he is. . . then I realize, if he were wearing a black German-style school uniform and standing in front of an arcade machine, I'd have recognized him immediately.  
  
"Shin? I ask.  
  
"Hisao! It is you!" Shin says, grinning. "Mai! Come over here! It's Hisao!" he says, waving to a young woman sitting a few tables away.  
  
"Holy crap! It is Hisao!" Mai says, astonished. She comes over to shake my hand and give me a quick hug before putting her hands on my shoulders and looking me up and down. "You're lookin' good, Hisao!" she says, grinning. "Way better than the last time I saw you."  
  
I feel a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest. "Yeah, well," I say, a bit sardonically. "The last time you saw me, I was lying in a hospital bed."  
  
Shin winces at that and looks a bit guilty. Mai, as always, either ignores the sarcasm or forges forward in spite of it. "Yeah," she says, rubbing the back of her head. "I guess compared to that, seeing you up and about and healthy is a huge improvement, huh? Who's your friend, by the way?"  
  
"Oh, this is Shizune Hakamichi, my girlfriend," I say, as I turn to Shizune. ["Shizune,"] I say, signing as well. ["This is Mai Uesugi, an old friend of mine from high school. And this is Shin Hasegawa, another old friend."]  
  
Shizune nods to Shin and Mai as she stands and bows gracefully. [It's good to meet some old friends of Hisao's,] she signs. [Very pleased to meet you both.]  
  
Shin and Mai give each other a hesitant look as I translate for my girlfriend. "Oh, I see," Shin says, looking at me, then giving Shizune a furtive glance. "Did you meet her at that. . . other. . . high school?" he asks, hesitantly.  
  
I sigh. ["Yes,"] I say, signing simultaneously for Shizune's benefits. ["Shizune and I met at Yamaku High School. She was the Student Council President, and I was on the Student Council."]  
  
"Really? You, Hisao? The lifetime member of the Going Home From School Club? How did she rope you into that?" Mai asks, pulling up a chair and sitting down across from us.  
  
[It took some doing,] Shizune signs. [I had to practically tie him down to get him to agree to it.]  
  
"It took some doing," I repeat. "Shizune. . . she had a lot of convincing to do."  
  
"I'm not surprised," Mai laughs. "I think you would have gone your entire life without doing any extracurriculars at all, if you could have helped it."  
  
[She says she thought I would have gone my entire life without joining any clubs at all if I'd had it my way.]  
  
[He almost did,] Shizune replies. [But I can be very persuasive.] She caps this off by leaning forward and resting her chest on her forearms, showing off her rather impressive bustline to the best possible extent.  
  
Mai laughs after I translate this for her. "Tell me about it!" she says loudly. "I practically had to beat Shin over the head before he realized I wanted him to ask me out."  
  
"Wait, you two are going out now?" I ask, surprised. I feel a major paradigm shift in my head. My mental image of Shin and Mai had always been the two of them wrestling in the dirt as they fought over the last blue lollipop in the bag, or shouting at each other as Shin accused her of only using cheese tactics in Street Fighter.   
  
I glance over at Shin, who rubs the back of his head and looks sheepish, even as he smiles. "We've been going out for a year now," Shin says. "A few months after. . . the incident, you know."  
  
"Oh," I say, a bit sobered. "Um. Congratulations, you two. Are you still living around here?"  
  
"Yeah, actually. We're both at the local university. Speaking of which, have you seen any of the old gang yet?"  
  
["Um, not really,"] I admit. ["Shizune and I are just in town for the weekend to visit my folks,"] I say. [I haven't had a chance to see any of the old gang yet,] I go on, signing for my girlfriend's benefit.  
  
"Oh, cool. If you don't have any plans for tonight, a bunch of us were going to go and meet up for dinner at the local Harry's," Mai says. "If you want to come along. . ."  
  
"Mai!" Shin hisses.  
  
"What?!" Mai snaps. "I'm sure that Hisao would like to see his old friends again!"  
  
"Mai, it's not just US that's going to be there!" Shin points out. "There's. . ."  
  
Realization comes over my old friend's face, and she looks suddenly stunned into silence. "Oh."  
  
". . . what is it?" I ask.  
  
"Oh, uhhhhh yeah. . . I forgot about that part," Mai admits, looking suddenly very contrite. "Uhhhhhh. . . remember Iwanako? From class 3-1?"  
  
". . . the girl who confessed to me and gave me my first heart attack?" I forge on, ruthlessly. "Yes, Mai, I remember her. What about her?"  
  
"She's, uhhhhh. . . dating Takumi now," Mai admits, a bit miserably.  
  
"Oh." It's like an anchor falling into the conversation, locking it in place. So Iwanako, the girl who once said she loved me, is now dating my other best friend. "Um. How long have they. . ."  
  
"A few months now. Since. . . summer of our senior year," Shin says.  
  
Yeah, I'd thought so. I think back to that hand-written letter with its precise, pink writing, on the sunset stationery. Summer of our senior year. . . yeah, that would have been about then. "Um," I say, rubbing the back of my head. "That's umm. . . that's nice. Um. Good for them. . ."  
  
That's about when Shizune grabs me by the arm and pulls me towards her, making me look her in the eye. [Hisao,] she signs, her hands slashing angrily. [You've spent the last few minutes talking about something without bothering to translate it for me, and now you look upset. What's going on?]  
  
[I'm sorry,] I sign back. [I'll explain later.]  
  
[No,] Shizune says, her eyes flashing angrily. [You explain now.]  
  
I sigh. [Do you remember me telling you about Iwanako?]  
  
[The girl who confessed to you and gave you your first heart attack? Yes, you mentioned her to me a few times. What's going on?]  
  
[She's dating one of my old friends now. There's a get-together for a few of our old high-school friends tonight, and she's going to be there.]  
  
[All right,] Shizune signs back, nodding. [So I'll finally get to meet her?]  
  
[No. . . I wasn't going to. . .] I stop for a moment and take a deep breath, marshalling my thoughts. [I'm not going.]  
  
Shizune's lips set into a firm, angry line. [You coward,] she signs harshly.  
  
Anger flashes through me. My hands are shaking so hard I can barely make the signs. [Don't you dare. . .]  
  
Shin clears his throat. "Um, Hisao?" he asks.  
  
"What?!" I snap.   
  
"Hey, dude. . . take it easy," Shin says, raising his hands disarmingly. "I was just going to say, Mai and I need to get going soon."  
  
You just bought your lunch for here, and suddenly you need to get going right away? Yeah right. "Sure," I say. "It was good seeing you again."  
  
"Yeah," Shin says, sighing and rubbing the back of his head. "It was good seeing you too." He bows to Shizune politely. "And it was good to meet you too, Hakamichi-san."  
  
"Yeah," Mai agrees. "Good to see you again, Hisao. Nice to meet you, Shizune."  
  
The two of them scoop up their lunches from their trays and carry them out, awkwardly juggling them and their shopping bags as they head back into the mall. I sigh again and close my eyes, rubbing my forehead and face, trying to relieve my sudden severe headache. Even more alarming is the sudden flutter I feel in my chest, and that old, familiar, rhythmic thudding in my ears as my blood pressure starts to shoot up. I take a deep breath, then another, pressing my hand over my heart, willing it to slow down.   
  
A pair of hands rest on my shoulders, and I feel them massaging my tense neck. Shizune's hands are cool and strong. Her fingers, against the back of my bare neck, are long and slender. It helps, somehow. Just the feeling of her hands on my skin is enough to help me calm down. Even so, it's another few minutes before I'm able to slow my breathing down to the point where I feel safe opening my eyes again.  
  
Shizune is kneeling in front of me, and her hands are resting on my shoulders. The look in her eyes is. . . the only way I can think of it is "emotional." It's not fear, though there's fear in there too. It's not anger, but that's also a part of it. Pity. . . and sympathy too, in a way.  
  
Love, I realize. That look in her eyes is love.  
  
[Are you okay?] she signs, tentatively.  
  
[I'm. . . fine,] I admit. [But. . . I think I'm done shopping for now.]  
  
[All right,] Shizune replies. [Let's go home.]


	6. Counteroffensive and Battle Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, combined two chapters into one for better flow.

I'm lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling when the phone rings.

The walk home from the mall was one of the most awkward and uncomfortable I've ever had. Shizune and I didn't even look at each other the whole time. When we get back to my home, I immediately headed up to my room and laid down on my bed. Shizune, to my surprise, didn't follow me in. I'd expected it, to be honest. It's not like her to let an argument lie unresolved like that.

It's not like I still love Iwanako. How could I? We'd known each other for only six weeks before she stopped visiting me in the hospital. Before that, I'd only known her as the shy, pretty girl I'd sometimes see in the hallways, the one with the nice smile and the big, beautiful eyes. Compared to that, what Shizune and I have is so much deeper. So much closer.

So why is it that I'm letting the fact that she's dating my old best friend get to me so much?

My thoughts are then interrupted by the sound of my phone ringing. I flip it open and hold it up to my ear. "Hello?"

My ears are immediately blasted by a loud, angry scream that makes my ears ring like a church bell. "HIICHAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!! YOU JERK!!! YOU MADE SHIICHAN CRY, DIDN'T YOU!!!!"

Oh. My. God. ". . . Misha? What the hell. . . what time is it over there?" I ask.

"Never mind that! Shiichan just sent me, like, nineteen text messages, telling me you two had a fight! She's really upset, you jerk!" Misha screams, like an angry fishwife. "I TOLD YOU TO TAKE CARE OF SHIICHAN! IF YOU'RE CHEATING ON HER OR MAKING HER CRY, I'M GOING TO FLY DOWN THERE AND KICK YOU IN THE BUTT SO HARD YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO SIT RIGHT FOR A MONTH!"

"I'm not cheating on her!" I insist. "I swear! It's. . . it's not even her business, anyway!"

"Of course it's her business, you moron! You're her boyfriend! Your business is her business! Why are you even arguing about this!?" Misha shouts. There is a loud thump, as if she's just kicked something really big and hard.

"Get off my damn case!" I shout back. "It's none of your business either! Would you just leave me alone?"

"No! I'm not going to leave you alone, and shicchan isn't going to leave you alone, and no one is going to leave you alone until you start acting like a man!" A deep breath. "AND IF YOU HANG UP ON ME, I SWEAR I WILL FIND YOU AND KILL YOU, HISAO NAKAI!"

Those last words interrupt me as I'm about to close my phone shut. I feel the sudden spectre of death descend over me.

"Now," Misha says, sternly. "You are going to tell me exactly what happened today, from the top!"

"Um. What do you know already?" I ask.

"Not much. Shiichan's text messages were. . . weird." Misha's voice trails off for a bit, then suddenly resurges with renewed energy. "She's really upset, though! So! Start talking!"

I sigh and take a deep breath. In a hollow voice, I go over the events of the day. Going to the shopping mall. Buying a present for Hideaki. Meeting my friends in the food court. Hearing the news about Iwanako and Takumi.

The story goes longer than I'd expected it to. By the time it's over, I'm feeling exhausted again. "Anyway. That's when she called me a coward, and I got angry. I think we would have had a fight then, except that I had another panic attack. And that's the story."

There is a long pause. 

". . . Hiichan, you coward!" Misha hisses.

". . . yeah. All right. I'm a coward," I admit. "This stupid girl asked me out over a year ago and gave me a heart attack and nearly killed me. Then it turns out that six months later, she and my best friend started dating. And neither of them thought to even tell me about it. So maybe I'd rather not go and spend some time with a bunch of jerks who didn't even take the time to talk to me all those months, and didn't even have the common courtesy to tell me they were going out, okay?"

". . . why didn't you call your friends when you decided to come to town?" Misha asks.

It's like a fencer's foil striking home: a lightning-fast lunge straight into the heart of the matter. Why didn't I call any of my old friends?

An image appears in my mind: I'm lying in that hospital bed, in that room with the unfamiliar white ceiling. My friends are all standing around me. None of them has anything to say. The look of pity in their eyes is infuriating. It makes me want to leap out of the bed and throttle them, to scream at them. Only the thought that doing something like that might kill me stops me from doing so.

Time passes, and the number of friends around my bed grows fewer and fewer. Soon it's only my three closest friends and Iwanako. Eventually, it's only her. And then, in the end. . . no one.

Shin and Mai had that same look in their eyes on that food court roof top. That same mixture of pity and confusion as they stood around not knowing what to say. It was bad enough when Shin was looking at me like that. . . but then he gave that same look to Shizune. 

"I'm sick and tired of them thinking I'm some kind of cripple," I growl. "It took me a year to get over that feeling. . . to start looking forward to life again, instead of just living day by day. Seeing them again. . . it took me back to that time when I was lying there in bed, helpless. Not knowing what to do." A deep breath. "I guess. . . I didn't want to remember how weak I was back then. How weak. . . and how pathetic."

These last few words hang between us in the sudden silence. "Hiichan~!" Misha says, sternly but kindly, "Are you ashamed of Shizune?"

"What? No!" I protest. "Shizune's. . . she's the best. She's more than the best. She's perfection. I wouldn't trade her for ten of any other girl in the world."

"Good!" Misha says, decisively. "Then you're going to take her to that party tonight. You're going to introduce her to all your old friends, and you're going to show them that you're dating the best girl in the world. And you're going to introduce her to this Iwanako person, and you're going to show her what a real girlfriend looks like, one who stands by her man and doesn't give up on him for anything. And you're going to show all your old friends that you're not some damn cripple who should be pitied. Hell, you're going to pity them, because you're the one who's dating Shizune Hakamichi, not them!" 

I flinch and pull away from the phone as a loud, gleeful "~WAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" bursts forth at ear-shattering decibels. I can almost see Misha grinning her old, familiar, triumphant grin: hands on her hips, eyes scrunched up in utter glee. . . but there's also a wistful bitterness to those words. 

You're the one who's dating Shizune Hakamichi. . . not me.

"All right," I agree. "I'll do it."

"You'd better! I'm going to get really mad if you don't~!" Misha insists. "And call me some time! I miss hearing from you!"

"Will you accept collect calls?" I ask. "Calling overseas gets expensive."

"Don't be a cheapskate, Hiichan~!" Misha replies. "But you've got a point. I'm hanging up now." A pause. "And remember! If you don't take care of Shizune, I'm going to be MAD!"

"I will," I say, grinning. "Talk to you again soon."

I hang up the phone with a smile. . . then something occurs to me. I take a moment to do some quick mental calculations. New York is fourteen hours behind Japan. . . it must be late night where Misha is. Maybe she'd even gone to bed already. And yet, she dropped everything to yell at me, because Shizune had asked her for help.

At my desk in my apartment near my university, there's a small framed photograph sitting above my bookshelf. On it is a photograph of three high school seniors posing like the Three Musketeers. In it, Shizune is staring straight into the camera, defiant and proud. I'm glancing at the cameraman sideways, feeling a bit embarassed to be posing like a fool.

Misha, however, is looking straight at me and Shizune.

I take a deep breath and get out of bed. I wouldn't want her to have to fly down and kick my ass.

\-----

Shizune's sitting on the couch as I come downstairs, sipping a cup of water. She looks up at me, sees the expression on my face, and nods once. [Hi,] she signs harshly.

[Hi,] I sign back. 

[Good to see you're out of bed.]

[Yeah,] I reply. Then, after a brief hesitation, [I had a talk with Misha. Thanks.]

[You weren't talking to me. I thought I'd ask someone else, who you would talk to.] Shizune smiles wickedly. [If Misha didn't work, I was going to text Kenji.]

I shudder at the thought. Shizune giggles at that, covering her mouth as her shoulders shake with mirth, which makes me chuckle too, then outright laugh. My girlfriend gets up from the couch and walks over to me, hugging me tightly as she giggles. I close my eyes and just hold her tight for a moment, breathing her in.

She smells crisp and clean: the scent of her body wash, some kind of bright clean smell that always reminds me of the mountains. She breathes deeply, and I realize only then that her body is trembling like a leaf. The tension flows out of her as she just melts in my arms, holding me so tight that I wonder if she's trying to fold herself into me.

I lower my head and press my forehead to hers. Her eyes are closed as she brushes her cheek against mine, burying her face in my shoulder. I am suddenly reminded just how small she really is. Her personality is such that I always seem to forget that. She tends to fill any room she's in with her simple presence, so much so that I always imagine her as being six feet tall.

She pulls away from me with a deep, shuddering sigh and composes herself, her eyes closed. When she opens them again, they are clear and bright. [I'm sorry I got angry with you before,] she signs to me.

I shake my head. [Don't be. You were right. I am a coward.]

[Yes, you are. And I'm a domineering bitch.] Shizune takes a deep breath. [I made Misha talk to you because I was too angry to do it myself. Even now that she's in New York I'm still imposing on her. Some friend I am.]

[Friends impose on each other,] I reply. [So do lovers.] I take a deep breath, steadying myself for what's coming next. [And you might be a domineering bitch, but you're my domineering bitch.]

Shizune smiles weakly. [Yeah,] she agrees. [And you love it.]

[With all my heart.] I agree. [I'm going to call Shin and tell him we're going to be coming to the party tonight.]

Shizune nods. [Will you be okay?]

[I will. Will you?]

[I'll manage.] Shizune takes another deep breath. [Now that that's decided,] she signs, a hint of her old, audacious grin appearing on her beautiful lips. [We're going back out to the shopping mall to buy clothes, and then I'm going to get my hair done.]

[But we were just there!]

[I didn't bring anything nearly good enough for this,] Shizune signs back, her eyes gleaming. [If I'm going to meet all your friends tonight, I'm going to do it looking good. I'm going to look good enough that all your friends are going to wish they were the ones who had heart attacks, not you.] She grins and adjusts her glasses. [And you're going to show up looking like someone who deserves to have me hanging off your arm.]

[. . . how the hell are you going to afford all this, anyway?]

[I'll take it out of my next two month's entertainment budget,] Shizune replies. [It'll be worth it to see the look on your friends' faces.]

I swallow hard. In all my worrying about me and Shizune. . . it hadn't occured to me that the ones I should really be worried about are my friends.

It's going to be an interesting evening.

\-----

[I kinda look like Mutou.]

[He had a good style. It worked for him, I think it can work for you too,] Shizune insists. [Besides, if I let you have it your way, you'd wind up wearing nothing but blue argyle sweater vests.]

[I liked that sweater vest,] I complain.

[That's why I chose your outfit for today,] Shizune replied. She reached up behind me and adjusted the collar of my jacket, then nodded.[All right. We're good. Just remember: you can button the top button of your jacket but never the bottom one. Always show about a quarter inch of cuff beyond the end of your jacket sleeve if you can. And keep the top two buttons of the shirt undone.]

I sigh and look at myself in the mirror, at the results of this afternoon's shopping spree. I have to admit, the effect isn't terrible. Shizune wound up buying me a new sports coat and slacks: both black, and a step up in quality from anything I usually wear. She also wound up buying me a dress shirt in a shade I would call blue, but which she claims is "cerulean." I look either like some kind of movie gangster or some celebrity. It's not bad.

Shizune, on the other hand, looks gorgeous. Black's a good color on her, and she wears it well: the tight skirt hugs her rounded hips, and the blouse and jacket are fitted to accentuate her ample bustline. Her usual thigh high stockings have been traded in for sheer black pantyhose. And, for the first time I can remember, she's actually put on make-up: just a hint of blush to highlight her cheekbones, and a bit of tastefully understated lipstick. She's put in the same diamond earrings and pendant she wore when she first arrived: with her blouse unbuttoned as low as it is, the necklace now rests just above her rather respectable cleavage. The edge of her favorite black bra peeks out just a bit over the edge of her fitted white blouse. Her hair has been allowed to come loose from its high ponytail and now, courtesy of a long, rather tedious session at a beauty salon, cascades down to just past her shoulders in a wave. 

She makes a minute adjustment to the angle of her left earring, then nods. [All right. We're good,] she declares.

[Sure we're not overdressed? Maybe we should tone it down a bit,] I wonder. 

[Better to be slightly overdressed than a little underdressed,] Shizune insists. [After all, we're trying to make an impression.]

[You're trying to make an impression. I'm just along for the ride.]

[Admit it. You love seeing me like this,] Shizune says.

[I'd love seeing you more out of this,] I reply, grinning.

[Don't even think about it, Mister. You're not going to get out of this by seducing me, Mister Master of Romance.] She grins. [Afterwards? Now that's another story.]

[It was worth a shot. Let's get going, we don't want to be too late.]

I help her into her coat, and we head out towards the setting sun. Harry's is a moderately nice western-style restaurant that my friends and I used to go to a lot when we were in high school. It's a few blocks away from my home: a bit far for walking, but it's a nice evening, and I don't mind the walk. We continue for a while in companionable silence, the only sounds being the sharp clicking sound of my girlfriend's high heeled shoes against the sidewalk, and my lower-pitched footsteps forming a counterpoint to that rhythm.

The sun has gone down by the time we round the corner and arrive at the restaurant. Taking a quick look around, I can see that there are several tables pushed together at one side of the venue, and a small sign with the words, "Reserved: Hasegawa Party" scribbled on a sheet of white paper in Sharpie pen. There are about eight people already there, sipping drinks and chatting. I take a deep breath and hold Shizune's hand tightly. She squeezes back, and we walk into the restaurant.

Mai's the first one to notice us, jumping up and waving to me excitedly. "Hisao!" she calls out. "Over here! Hey, everyone, you remember Hisao Nakai, right?"

Immediately, everyone's gotten up from their seats and shaking my hand. Names and faces I vaguely remembered from my days in high school reappear before me, shaking my hand and offering various greetings. "And this is Shizune Hakamichi, my girlfriend," I say at last, once I get a chance to get a word in edgewise. . . and then move on to the next part, the one Shizune and I discussed at home. "She's deaf," I said, "and doesn't speak, but I can translate what you say into sign language for her, and we have a notepad as well, if you want to write notes."

"Good to meet you, Shizune," Ryoko says, giving her a handshake and a light hug. "We've heard so much about you!" Her voice is just a little too loud, and enunciated just a bit too clearly. I wince.

Before I can follow up on that, Mai passes me and Shizune two name-tags with our names written on them. "Here you go," she says, smiling. I notice that everyone is wearing small name-tags stuck to their lapels: just stickers with their names written on them in Sharpie. A strange thing to have at a reunion of old high school friends who have known each other for years.

I glance back over at Mai, who winks at me playfully. "You're not the only one who brought a girlfriend or boyfriend," she says. "I thought this way, we could all remember everyone's names." 

Ah. Of course. I look back over at Shizune, and find that Shin has taken it upon himself to introduce her to everyone. I know that she can't understand what they're saying, but they all have name-tags, and their warmth and genuine hospitality are showing through. If a few of them also look a bit nervous and unsure of themselves, they hide it well. Shizune responds with nods and silent bowing. There's a slightly disappointed look in her eyes, as if she were a soldier who'd burst into a room waving around his rifle and yelling, only to find that he was in an empty room with no enemies at all.

After that, everyone sits back down, and we take our seats. Ryoko leans over again, and says, again in that overly enunciated, overly loud voice, "So. Shizune. How did you and Hisao first meet?"

I sigh. [She wants to know how we first met.]

[Tell her,] Shizune replies. [Also, what is wrong with the way she's talking? Is she stupid?]

[I think she's trying to be considerate of you, by talking loud and slow,] I reply.

[Oh. One of those. Should we tell her it doesn't help at all and just makes her look silly?]

[I don't think so. She'll get the idea eventually. I hope.] I turn back to Ryoko and give her a quick synopsis: same class together, student council, school festival, Tanabata, fireworks, yada yada.

Ryoko laughs out loud. "Really? You? Hisao? On the student council? How the heck did she manage that?"

"I'm still not sure of that myself. I think Risk was involved. And Australia. Definitely Australia."

"I wish you'd stayed, then. We could have used you during senior year."

"We?"

"I was on the Student Council during senior year," Ryoko says, laughing. "We mostly passed out flyers and handled the budget for various clubs. It was a lot of work, but fun, though."

[She says she was on the Student Council during the year I was gone,] I translate for Shizune. [They mostly passed out flyers and handled budgets for the clubs. She claims it was a lot of work.]

Shizune smiles. [Amateurs.]

[Be nice.]

[I am being nice. Still, you, Misha, and I did ten times more work than that, with only the three of us.]

"What's she saying, Hisao?" Ryoko asks

"Oh. Um. Shizune's saying that our student council was much smaller. It was a lot of hard work."

"I can imagine. Only three people? I couldn't imagine handling everything we did with only three."

[She's rather impressed that we did as much as we did with only three people,] I translate.

[Thank her for me, then.]

I do so, which results in another wave of reminiscing about senior year, which I translate as best I can. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a couple of my old male friends giving me envious looks and stealing glances at my girlfriend.

I try not to smirk.

By the time the waitress comes around to take our drink orders, I've wound up in a conversation with Shin and a few of my friends about baseball: Shizune continues on the conversation with Ryoko using her notepad. About when the drinks and appetizers arrive, I hear the door open and glance over to see two people walking in together.

My heart skips a beat. Thankfully, it's not serious.

Takumi looks like he always has: same touseled dark hair, same serious expression, same glasses. Iwanako. . . 

Imagining this moment, I'd always pictured her the way I'd last seen her: with long, black tresses falling past her shoulders in an ebony cascade. So seeing her with her hair in a short pixie-cut is a shock to me. She flinches as she sees me look up at her, then Takumi puts his hand on her shoulder and whispers something in her ear. She nods, and the two of them walk over.

"Hello, Hisao," Iwanako says, softly.

"Hi, Iwanako," I reply. "Hey, Takumi."

Takumi nods. "Hey, Hisao."

Before the silence can get awkward, I stand up and tap Shizune on the shoulder: she glances up at me, then over at Iwanako and Takumi, with a bit of surprise. Of course. She didn't hear them come in. She gets to her feet, and begins to sign to the two of them. ["Hi,"] I translate. ["I'm Shizune Hakamichi, Hisao's girlfriend. It's good to meet you both."]

Iwanako smiles wanly. "It's good to meet you too," she says, as I translate for her. "Hisao told me a lot about you. . ."

Shizune and Iwanako find seats, and Shizune breaks out her notepad once again. Takumi and I are left looking at each other in awkward silence. "Um," I say, nervously. "Hi."

Takumi stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks at his feet. "Hi," he says.

I clear my throat. "So," I ask, "How you been?"

"I've been. . . all right. I'm a ronin right now: didn't get into the schools I wanted. Iwanako's helping me study for the entrance exams next year."

"Agh. That sucks."

"Yeah," Takumi agrees. "On the other hand, I did pretty well on the last practice exam. I feel pretty confident in my chances next year."

"That's good." 

Another one of those awkward silences descends over our conversation. In the background, I can hear Mai and Ryoko laughing as they reminisce about some event that happened after I had already left.

"Hey," I say. "I'm uhhhh. . . gonna get a breath of fresh air. Wanna come with me?" I ask.

Takumi nods. "Um. Yeah. Sure."

The evening is crisp and clean compared to the warm light of the restaurant. Takumi and I end up leaning against the wall together, illuminated by the light of the neon signs and the restaurant proper. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and offers me one, which I decline with a shake of my head. He takes out his lighter and lights up, taking a deep drag and blowing a cloud of fragrant smoke into the night air.

"So," I say. "You and Iwanako, huh?"

"Yeah," Takumi says softly. "It um. Happened a few months after you left for. . . that other school."

"Yamaku High," I say.

"Yeah." Takumi sighs. "I would have called you and asked for permission to ask her out. . . but. . . you know."

"Actually, I don't."

Takumi sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "Damn it, Hisao," he mutters. "You remember how it was! I didn't know what you'd do if I wrote you telling you that I wanted to date Iwanako. I mean. . . what if it gave you another heart attack? I didn't want that on my conscience. . . and for all I knew, you weren't ever coming back anyway. You never even said goodbye, remember?"

"Actually, I don't remember," I admit, trying not to let bitterness tinge my voice. 

"Agh," Takumi sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Look. . . if I'm really honest with you, will you promise not to have a heart attack?"

"I can't really control that," I point out, "but I'll try not to."

"Fine," Takumi says, steeling himself. "You were an asshole back then."

Beat. "What?"

"Look, it was like. . . the entire class came by to try and cheer you up. You barely even talked to them. Mai, Shin, and I kept coming to visit you. You'd barely even talk to us, and when you did, you were always pissed off. Remember the time that Mai tried to talk to you about going to Tokyo Disneyland together after you got out of the hospital?"

"Vaguely," I admit.

"Do you remember telling us that you weren't going to go anywhere? Do you remember saying that you wouldn't even get to do anything? That you'd die if you tried to go on any of the rides?" Takumi asked relentlessly.

". . . Not really. I was in a. . . bad spot back then."

"Yeah, I know. We all knew. Mai knew she'd screwed up, but. . . we were all trying to help. . . trying to be there for our friend. But. . . you didn't let us. We couldn't get through to you at all." Takumi sighs. "It sucked," he says, decisively.

I digest these words for a moment as Takumi takes another puff of his cigarette. I'm thinking back to my time in the hospital. . . remembering the days going by, the stream of visitors slowing to a trickle. I'm remembering, looking back, at the expressions on my friends' faces. Grim. Set. . . Determined. Angry. Sad. Especially sad.

Helpless.

"Yeah," I admit. "You have a point there. Like I said. . . I was in a bad place at the time." I look down at my feet. "I'm sorry."

"I know," Takumi said. "And you had every right to be angry. I mean. . . you'd just found out you could die at any moment. I'd be kinda freaked out by that too. But. . . damn, man. I wish you could have let us help."

"I think. . ." I swallow. "I think I wasn't in a position to be helped. I needed to get my head into a different space before I could let that happen."

"You seem better now," Takumi admits. "To be honest, I didn't think you'd come out tonight."

"I. . . got convinced to come." I smile. "I guess you might say I kinda had a breakthrough, a while back. Some things happened that convinced me that worrying about yesterday and tomorrow isn't worth it, if it means that you wind up losing your grip on today. I forgot that for a bit."

I glance back into the restaurant. Iwanako is scribbling something very quickly on a notepad, which she then passes to Shizune. Shizune nods and smiles, laughing her trademark silent chuckle, one hand covering her mouth. I watch her brush a hair back from her face behind her ear as she picks up the pen and starts to write back.

"I'm just glad someone was there to remind me of what's important."

\-----

The rest of the evening passes by largely without incident. Dinner was. . . unremarkable. The usual Western-style fare. We wind up staying past closing, buying drinks and catching up on old times. A good evening all around.

Towards the end of the night, I take a break to go to the restroom. On my way back, I wind up watching Shizune and my friends converse. Mai has somehow managed to get notepads for everyone, and everyone is sitting around jotting down notes and passing them back and forth. It looks like some bizarre party game.

There is a gentle cough beside me, and I find Iwanako standing nervously a few feet away, her hands clasped in front of her, looking up at me shyly. Her expression is strangely reminiscent of that day in the snow. "Iwanako," I say softly.

"Hisao." She sighs. "I'm sorry."

I nod. "I know." A deep breath. "I got your letter."

"Oh? I'm glad," Iwanako replies. "When you never replied, I thought. . ." her voice trails off.

"I was in a bad place back then," I say. This must be the hundredth time I've said that tonight. "I'm sorry I never wrote back." I pause for a moment, then forge forward. "Is that when you and Takumi started dating?"

"A little afterwards," Iwanako folds her hands tightly. "He was. . . nice to me. After everything that happened. . . a lot of our classmates hated me. They blamed me for what happened to you. Takumi didn't. And then. . . after a while. . . I realized I liked him."

I nod. "I'm glad you two found each other, then," I say. And this time, it's the truth.

I feel that day in the snow fade away into distant memory.

For the first time since it happened, I think back to that moment without a hint of regret.

"Thank you for asking me out, back then," I say softly. "It was the first time that a girl ever asked me out. I was. . . happy. . . knowing that you liked me."

Iwanako turns her face away, and I realize she's crying. I offer her my handkerchief in silence. She accepts it gratefully.

We remain there, watching our friends laugh and talk, for a few minutes, before rejoining the party.

\-----

It's past midnight by the time that Shizune and I get back. The house is dark, but I can see my dad's car in the driveway. My parents are home but asleep.

We walk in silence up the darkened stairway and into my room. I wearily remove my clothes and hang up my new jacket and slacks on their hangers, before unbuttoning my shirt and hanging it up as well. I pull on a t-shirt over my head, while Shizune hangs up her clothes on some borrowed clothes hangers and shrugs into her nightgown.

We wash up in my bathroom together, then climb into bed. Shizune pulls my arms around her like a warm blanket, snuggling in close like a kitten snuggling up to its mother, her back to my front. I nuzzle the back of her neck for a moment, inhaling her soft, feminine scent.

I fall asleep still holding her, and dream of warm, summer days.


	7. Reflections

Have you ever woken up late, with the sun shining through your bedroom window, the birds singing their joy to the new day, and found yourself not sleeping next to a beautiful woman in pajamas whom you did not make love to the night before?

I make no apologies. My life is incredible.

I take my morning batch of pills and come downstairs, scratching my ribs and yawning, looking for a cup of coffee and maybe a glass of juice. I find something better.

A delectable smell hits me as I walk into the kitchen. Shizune is standing at the stove, wearing my mother's apron over her pajamas, cooking up something in a frying pan. Her raven-black hair is pulled up by a small barette, exposing the nape of her neck. Not wanting to startle her while she's holding a hot frying pan, I suppress the urge to embrace her and instead walk over to the other side of the kitchen to watch her work.

She's got a bunch of mixed vegetables and meats in a pan, sauteeing them lightly with a bit of oil: I glance over and see diced tomatoes, red and green bell peppers, onions, and ham. There is a bowl with what appears to be about half a dozen cracked and beaten eggs in it: she turns the heat down very low and pours the eggs into the pan, stirring constantly. The end result is a kind of scrambled egg mixture, to which she adds a bit of salt and pepper until finally satisfied with the taste. This she adds on top of a bowl of rice with a pat of butter and a dash of soy sauce, then smiles and passes it over to me.

[What's this?] I ask.

Shizune frowns and snaps her fingers. Of course, with her hands full like this, she can't talk. I take my bowl of food to the kitchen table, where Shizune already has the utensils laid out. Some kind of daikon soup steams deliciously in the ceramic bowls.

I take a tentative bite of the weird egg-and-rice dish.

Actually, it's pretty good. Kinda like an omurice, but with different ingredients arranged differently.

[You like it?] Shizune asks, sitting down across from me. [It's based on an American dish called a "Denver Omelet," but with a Japanese twist.] She adjusts her glasses, and grins at me. [My own recipe.]

[It's weird, but I like it,] I admit.

[Of course. I made it, didn't I?] She stretches her arms out over her head with a soft sigh.

"Hm. Well, this is interesting," I hear my father say, as he comes down the stairs. "Good morning, Hisao. Shizune."

Shizune gets up from the kitchen table, gesturing to my father to sit down. She makes up another one of those rice and egg bowls for him as well, then steps back away from the table, her hands clasped in front of her tightly. He glances over at me (perhaps checking to make sure I don't keel over foaming at the mouth) before taking his first bite. He raises an eyebrow, then takes a second, larger one, nodding in approval, and takes a sip of the daikon soup.

I see my girlfriend sigh in relief. The smile on her face is the same one she has right after she bears off her last backgammon piece, or takes my final piece off the Risk board.

\-----

"Could use a little less salt in the soup, and the eggs were a bit overcooked, but it's not bad," my mother confides in me afterwards. "It's a good start." She passes me one of the soup bowls, and I dry it off with the hand towel and place it in the drying rack. "She'll get better with practice."

The *click* of a go stone hitting the board can be heard from the living room: my father and Shizune playing a rematch of their game two nights ago. A loud, brassy, confident *SNAP* sound marks Shizune placing one of her pieces, followed by another deliberate, careful *click* of my dad taking his move. "They seem to get along," I comment.

"Your father finally found someone outside of his group of middle-aged friends who will play go with him. Of course he likes her." She passes me another bowl. "Are you two using protection?"

"Um," I stammer. "Um. . . Shizune's on the pill."

"That doesn't really help in case of diseases, you know."

"That's not really an issue," I point out, rather offended. "We've only done it with each other."

"I know, dear, but you should still be careful. Sex isn't the only way you can catch certain things." She passes me another soup bowl. I quickly dry off the one I'm holding and pick up the new one. "On the other hand, I'm glad that you've given some thought to this."

"Actually, Shizune was the one who thought of it first," I admit. I still remember the moment after "the chair incident" when, in a panic, I'd realized what we'd forgotten. [Don't worry about it,] Shizune had told me. [I've been taking the pill for over a month.]

[Oh, good,] I'd replied, relaxing. Then: [Wait. You were planning this for over a month?]

[We were going to do this eventually. I wanted to be ready whenever it happened, no matter what the circumstances.] She grinned at me and adjusted her glasses as she quoted Sun Tzu. ["Being prepared is the greatest of all virtues!" I'm always ready!]

"Huh," I say.

"What is it, dear?"

"I just realized. . . I'm really dense." All of the little hints and clues Shizune had tossed my way in the long months between our first and second times finally came back to me. She must have had the worst case of blue balls (or the female equivalent) by the time we'd gone for it in that Student Council Room. And that had only happened because she'd outright demanded I kiss her.

"She's really weird," I admit.

"The most interesting people usually are," my mom agrees. Then, after a brief moment's hesitation: "I'm glad you two found each other. When we sent you to Yamaku, your father and I were most afraid you'd be lonely there. We were hoping you would find friends. I'm so glad that you found so much more."

"Mmmm." I take the last plate from my mother and dry it off with the dish towel, before placing it on the rack. "I have to admit that when I first got there, I wasn't much better than when I was in the hospital. I was completely wrapped up in feeling sorry for myself." I laugh. "Then I met the most annoying deaf girl in the world who kept trying to convince me to join the student council. Shizune really pissed me off back then. Which was an improvement from lying around wallowing in self-pity. Well. . . almost an improvement. You know she nearly killed me that first week?"

"What? You never told me about this!"

"It wasn't really her fault. More me being stupid. She was so competitive that it rubbed off on me a bit. I got into a race. Figured I could outrun a girl with no legs, right?" I laugh. "Well, as it turned out, Emi was the school's track and field star, and I pushed myself too hard and got a flutter. We both got yelled at for that."

My mother laughs at that. "I'm glad you didn't tell me, then. I would have driven down there and dragged you home from that place right then and there."

"I figured that. Maybe that's why I didn't tell you." I idly wonder what Ibarazaki's up to now. Last I'd heard, she'd gone to Beijing to compete in the 2008 Paralympics, but didn't win any medals. Shizune tells me she splits her time between training for the 2012 London games and studying for her physical therapist's license.

Shizune, of course, keeps in touch with all our old friends from our senior year: the eternal Student Council President, she. A few other tidbits I'd heard come to mind: Rin Tezuka, that weird girl with no arms, is at an art school overseas. Last I'd heard, she'd had some sort of fight with Nomiya, the school's art teacher, and they weren't talking to each other. Shizune's cousin Lilly's at Oxford studying English: she's engaged to a nice law student, and due to be married in December. Shizune and I are flying out to attend the wedding. Hanako Ikezawa writes shoujo manga under a pen name. My old friend Kenji, weirdly enough, is a Feminist Studies major at Tokyo University. That foreign kid, Lezard, is studying biochemistry. Suzumiya-san is at film school. Taro worked at a toy factory, then was a fisherman for a few months, and now works at a brewery doing some sort of desk work. Molly's trying to break into acting. Miki's studying liberal arts.

"You know, it's weird," I muse. "When I first found out about my heart condition, I thought my life was over. But when I got to Yamaku, I came to realize it was just beginning. I think, out of everything I learned in high school, that one lesson was the most important."

My mother smiles at me. There is a wistfulness in her eyes. "Then it was all worth it. . . for nothing else other than that." She straightens up. "I'm going to go hang up the laundry to dry. Why don't you get your father and Shizune something to drink?"

"I could help," I say.

"Thank you dear, but I'll be fine. You enjoy your day off." She gives me a pat on the cheek and heads off towards the laundry room. I can hear her humming something: a song from a musical called "Fiddler on the Roof."

_Is this the little girl I carried?_  
 _Is this the little boy at play?_  
 _I don't remember growing older. . ._  
 _When did they?_

Her voice trails off as the laundry room door closes.

\-----

My father and girlfriend barely even look up from the board as I leave the tray with the drinks and snacks by their side: both of them have their full attentions devoted to the game which, as far as I can see, is pretty much even. I decide not to bother them and head up to my bedroom to read.

A couple of hours later, Michio Kaku's explanation of higher-dimensional physics gets interrupted by my bedroom door opening. Shizune flounces into my bedroom and gives me a kiss on the cheek. She's got that flushed-faced victorious look she has whenever she enjoys the thrill of a hard-won victory. [Good game?] I ask.

She nods and wriggles into my arms as I pick up my book and resume reading. She takes a moment to look at the title of my book before tucking her head under my chin and curling up against me like a kitten to a mama cat.

Hm.

I reach up with my left hand and gently stroke her hair. Shizune responds by nuzzling against the palm of my hand. I lean down and give her a kiss on the forehead. She tilts her head back and returns the kiss, on my lips.

Aha.

I put down my book and carefully remove her glasses, folding them closed and putting them on the nightstand, then roll over a bit so that I'm half on top of her, returning the kiss once more, slower and with a little more passion. Shizune rises up into my kiss, stroking the back of my neck with one hand, the other playing down my back.

"Hisao!" my mom calls out. "Lunch time!"

I pause, only for a moment. Let them wait, I decide.

Outside, an autumn breeze shakes the leaves from the trees.


	8. Back at the Train Station Again

[Do you have all your bags?] I ask.   
  
Shizune nods to me, smiling, her hands full both of the duffel bag she brought with her, and the somewhat larger roller-bag she wound up buying to carry all the gifts and other purchases she's bringing back with her. I put on my jacket and take the handle of the roller-bag from her, and we head out.  
  
My parents aren't around: I heard the front door discreetly close while Shizune and I were upstairs making love, and the car pull out of the driveway. When we came downstairs, there was a plate of sandwiches on the table, wrapped in plastic, and a note tucked under it:  
  
"Going to work. It was wonderful to meet you, Shizune. Please visit again soon."  
  
We'd sat together in the living room, eating the sandwiches and sipping tea, watching television and glancing at the clock as it slowly moved towards the appointed hour.  
  
It was just as one of the men on the television set misjudged his jump and failed to grab hold of the big cargo net over the water that Shizune turned to me and touched my face. I turned away from watching the antics of the contestants trying to prove themselves as the next Ninja Warrior, and looked into Shizune's eyes for a long, eternal moment.  
  
[I could take a later train,] Shizune signed, at last. [I can afford to skip a class or two tomorrow.]  
  
I pulled her close to me and kissed her forehead. Shizune nodded back and rested her head on my shoulder. She put her hand in my lap and ran a finger down the palm of my hand, tracing the pattern of veins down the inside of my wrist.  
  
Even if she took that later train, it wouldn't matter, in the end. No amount of time would ever be enough.  
  
\-----  
  
The bus ride to the train station passes in silence. Shizune stares out the window the whole time. There is a deep sense of regret and longing in her dark blue eyes, illuminated by the fiery light of the setting sun. I keep one hand in the pocket of my jacket and the other clasped in hers, our fingers interlaced.  
  
We pass by the restaurant, where Shizune had met my friends, and charmed them all.  
  
We pass by the shopping mall, where she'd haggled with the man in the accessories shop, and where we'd met with my friends on the rooftop.  
  
We pass by the park where she and I had walked and talked about our parents.   
  
The bus drives by the river. Across the flowing water, the wind is blowing in the branches of the now bare trees.  
  
I find myself wishing for traffic. Something to slow this bus ride down. Something to make it last even an instant longer. Every instant is precious.  
  
The streets are nearly empty, though, and all too soon, I hear the bus driver announce that we've arrived.  
  
I take the handle of my girlfriend's bag, and we get off the bus together. We walk into the train station and up to the platform side by side, neither of us looking at each other. Neither willing to dare.  
  
The train station is nearly empty: only a few dozen people seated here and there, waiting for the next train to arrive. I lead Shizune to the far end of the platform, to an empty bench. I prop up the roller-bag next to us as Shizune sits down.  
  
I take a deep breath.  
  
[Are you hungry?] I ask.  
  
[A bit,] she admits.  
  
I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out a small package wrapped in plastic. Shizune shakes her head and smiles. [Veal cutlet bread?]  
  
[You never wondered what was under that covered dish that first night?]   
  
[I promised not to look,] Shizune admits. [It was a matter of honor.]  
  
[Want to rock paper scissors for it?] I ask.  
  
Shizune shakes her head. She unwraps the bread and tears it in half. I close my eyes.  
  
I feel her freeze, seeing the thing inside.  
  
When I open my eyes again, I can see that she's staring at the small roll of laminated paper that I had hidden inside the bread a few days ago.  
  
[You have no idea how hard it was for me to get that in there, and the bag closed up again,] I sign, with shaking hands.  
  
She unrolls the paper and reads the words written on it.  
  
She presses her hands to her mouth and closes her eyes. Tears stream down her face.  
  
I take a deep breath. I reach into my pocket and pull out a small velvet box. I open it and show her what's inside.  
  
Shizune tries to sign, but her hands are shaking so badly that she can't make the words. All she can do is nod.  
  
I take her hand in mine and put the ring on her finger. Our hands are shaking so bad that I nearly drop the ring twice before I finally get it on her.   
  
The broken halves of the veal cutlet bread fall to the ground as she leaps out of the bench and throws her arms around my neck. I feel her tears on my neck. She is holding me like a sailor adrift on the seas, clinging to me tightly, so tightly, as if she will never let go.  
  
"I love you, Hisao," she whispers.  
  
Her words are slurred, and she's lisping badly. The vowels don't sound right, and her intonation is completely off.   
  
It's the most beautiful thing i've ever heard.


	9. Stepping Together Into the Future

Five years later. . .   
  
"So what kind of consulting did you say your dad did again?" I ask Hideaki.  
  
"Security," Hideaki says.  
  
"A security consultant. Right."  
  
The bride's side of the garden is starting to look rather like a bad gangster movie: everyone's wearing black suits, and there are lots of big men with sunglasses and slim watches standing around not talking to anyone. A tall blonde woman with a burn-scarred face stands around talking to the biggest black man I've ever seen, a blond guy with glasses, some foreign woman with an impressive series of tattoos on her upper arms, and what appears to be a normal Japanese salaryman. A couple of Italian men, accompanied by teenage girls carrying various musical instrument cases, are watching the proceedings. A brunette in a red suit, accompanied by a young woman wearing a black suit and tie, take a seat next to two high school girls, a high school-age boy, and what seems to be an eight year old girl in a kimono. A very palpable air of menace emanates from that side of the garden, causing everyone on my side to glance over at them nervously.  
  
"Who are these people again?" I ask Hideaki.  
  
"Friends of my dad's. Business partners, mostly." He brushes his blue-black hair back from his face: his formerly girlish features have now matured into a kind of pretty-boy elegance that makes him look like a pop star. In the background, I can see a couple of high-school aged girl glance over at him and giggle behind their hands. Hideaki ignores them. "You nervous?" he asks.  
  
"Like hell. I think I'm going to throw up."  
  
"If you do, don't do it on me," Hideaki says. "I need to go sit down now. Good luck."  
  
"Thanks," I sigh. Hideaki gives me a nod and walks back to the bride's side of the garden, leaving me standing at the dais alone.  
  
Yamaku High School is beautiful in the spring, when the flower blossoms are blooming. The garden behind the school has always been one of my favorite places. It's not surprising, then, that Shizune wanted to have our wedding here. Considering the amount of time and money that the Hakamichi and Satou families have donated towards this school, the board was only too happy to say yes.  
  
Akio Mutou somehow manages to make his doctoral robes look shabby and ill-fitting, even for such voluminous garments. He'd been surprised when Shizune and I asked him to officiate at our wedding. "I'm just a teacher," he'd protested. "I don't deserve this honor."  
  
"You're not just a teacher. You're also my mentor and close friend. And if it weren't for you, the two of us might never have gotten together," I'd insisted.  
  
Mutou had sighed and stabbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. "Very well, then," he'd smiled. "If all I have to do is stand in front of a bunch of people and say a bunch of words no one will listen to. . . I can't say that I'm not inexperienced at that."  
  
Now, he stands at the altar and nods to me. "Hang in there, Nakai-san," he murmurs. "It'll all be over soon."  
  
"I know," I reply. "But not soon enough.  
  
\-----  
  
The sound of music cuts through the chatter: an arrangement of Pachelbel's Canon in D for a single harp. As the garden falls silent, I can see the wedding procession begin to emerge through the flower arch and walk down the garden path.  
  
The first to walk down the aisle is Lilly Satou, escorted by my friend Shun. Lilly looks beautiful in her pale blue wedding dress, offsetting her eyes and her long, blonde hair. Sitting in the front row on the bride's side are her husband and her three year-old daughter, who look over at their wife and mother with proud smiles.  
  
I remember four years ago, visiting Scotland with Shizune for Lilly's wedding. The green hills of that beautiful countryside are still engraved in my memory as Lilly and her husband took their vows to each other. Afterwards, I'd seen Shizune and Lilly at the reception, sitting side by side. Shizune was touching Lilly's hand, pressing against her fingertips and palms, brushing her fingertips against Lilly's wrists. I found out later that it was a form of deafblind sign language, like the one used by Anne Sullivan to teach Helen Keller. It was how Shizune and Lilly used to talk to each other. They hadn't used it in over two years, since their junior year at Yamaku.  
  
Since they had their falling out.  
  
Shizune came home from that wedding in high spirits, as if she'd finally put to rest something that had been haunting her for a long time. [It felt good to talk to Lilly again. Really talk to her, not fight with her,] she'd told me on the plane trip home. [I didn't realize how much I'd missed it until it was gone.] She'd looked wistful then. A few hesitant starts, before finally signing: [We were really silly as teenagers, weren't we?]  
  
[I guess so,] I admitted.  
  
[I kind of wish I'd been more mature about it. All this time we wasted on fighting. . .]  
  
[If you had been, you wouldn't have been a teenager. Making mistakes is all part of growing up.]  
  
[I suppose,] Shizune had replied. [But in the end, you're here, so I guess I didn't mess up too badly.]  
  
I'd given her a kiss then. She'd returned it. We'd looked around the plane and seen that everyone else was either asleep or otherwise occupied.  
  
By the way: the mile-high club is overrated. Not enough room to really enjoy yourself in that cramped airplane lavatory, and the flight attendant gave us a serious (if hushed) chewing out when she found out. Shizune claims we should give it another shot some day. I think I'll pass.  
  
\-----  
  
The next pair to walk down the aisle are one of Shizune's college friends and my old friend Takumi. His own wife and child are seated on my side, next to Iwanako and her husband. Takumi gives me a nod as he walks over to stand next to Shun, at my side. He and Iwanako had broken up about a couple of years after that memorable visit to my home town: no fault of either of them, just time and circumstances causing them to drift apart. Takumi wound up getting married to one of his coworkers: Iwanako went through a matchmaker and found a nice young man in government civil service. She's hugely pregnant, and looks radiantly happy.  
  
After them are my best man, escorting a tall, round-faced woman with long brown hair tied up in a bun. Misha grins at me happily, her eyes wet with emotion.  
  
I have to admit, I wasn't sure about it when Shizune told me that she wanted Misha to be her maid of honor. [Are you sure about this?] I asked. [Don't you think it might be a bit awkward? I mean, inviting someone who once confessed to you to your own wedding?]  
  
[It might,] Shizune admitted, [but Misha deserves this. She's been by my side through so much else. I wouldn't want anyone else by my side for this. Besides, it's been, what, over seven years now? I'm sure she's forgotten all about it by now.]  
  
Shizune was right: the disasters I had anticipated never materialized. Time and distance, I suppose, healing all wounds. Misha had been delighted to be given the honor of standing by her old friend at her wedding. She'd flown in a week before the ceremony, just in time for the Shinto blessing and the Japanese-style ceremonies for the friends and family.   
  
The next day, the three of us had spent a wonderful evening together, eating dinner, reminiscing about old times, and catching up on current events. Towards the end, Misha had given me the third degree for waiting so long to actually get married. ["You and Shicchan have been engaged for five years!"] she complained. ["We were starting to think that you didn't actually mean it!"]  
  
[We would have gotten married sooner,] Shizune insisted, [but someone insisted we at least wait until we finished college.]  
  
["Well, neither of us wanted to change schools, and we were going to school way too far away from each other to share a place,"] I pointed out. ["Besides, it's better this way. Now we won't have to worry about starting a family while we're trying to get our degrees."]  
  
[That's because Hisao's too lazy to do more than one thing at a time,] Shizune claimed, eliciting one of Misha's famous guffaws at last.  
  
If there's one thing I regret, it's that Misha still hasn't found someone yet. I suppose it's too much to hope for, that everyone could be as deliriously happy as me on this day. But if there's the slightest hint of wistful regret in Misha's eyes as she takes her place across from me, it's tempered with the true joy she feels at seeing two of her oldest friends find happiness.   
  
In the end, I suppose, that will be enough for us both.  
  
\-----  
  
My best man saunters to my side and nudges me in the ribs. "If you want to escape," Kenji says, "I've got your back. I can have a flashbang and smoke grenade into this crowd in moments."  
  
"Please don't tell me that you really brought grenades to my wedding, Kenji," I whisper.  
  
"I had to do something. Half this group is packing heat as it is."  
  
"I really didn't need to know that," I wince.  
  
"Still," Kenji whispers, "I think you're making a mistake. Marriage is nothing but a scam by the feminists to oppress men under their heel."  
  
"Says the man who's been in a committed relationship for what, the past five years?"  
  
"Yup. That's the way to do it. Don't let them get your claws into you. Keep your freedom safe. Keep it close."  
  
I sigh and wonder, for the umpteenth time, whether I should try and explain the concept of a "common-law marriage" to my old friend. Probably not. I need him here by me on the dais, not running screaming into the night in a schizoid panic.  
  
\-----  
  
Pachelbel's Canon ends with a light trill on the harp, as the entire garden waits in silent anticipation. The musician reaches to her music stand and turns the page.  
  
Wagner's Bridal Chorus plays forth like starlight against the silver strings. Everyone in the audience turns towards the back of the garden. With slow, measured steps, two people emerge through the arch of white roses and walk slowly down the satin pathway.  
  
Jigoro Hakamichi escorts his daughter down the aisle with an inwardly contemplative expression on his broad, brutally handsome face. His long, wild hair, now braided into a neat queue, is shot through with some grey, and his beard is starting to turn grey as well. He wears his black tuxedo with the same confident flair as he does his usual Hawaiian-style shirts and slacks. His ever-present sword (which, I have learned, is a family heirloom dating from the Sengoku Period), is clutched in his left hand: his right arm is crooked at a neat angle, Shizune's hand resting in the crook of his elbow.  
  
I gulp nervously, remembering last night's dinner. After the rehearsal, Jigoro had taken the family of the bride and groom out to an extremely exclusive, extremely expensive sushi restaurant for dinner. After one too many beers, I'd made an exit to the restroom in order to relieve myself, and found my soon-to-be father in law waiting for me just outside the bathroom doors.  
  
Oh god, I'd thought. He's got me here alone, and now he's going to kill me.  
  
Jigoro cleared his throat and shot me with an angry glare. "Just so you know," he insisted. "I still don't approve of you. You're nowhere near good enough for my daughter. She deserves better than someone like you."  
  
I'd steeled myself and set my shoulders. "Yes, I know, sir," I'd said, staring into this dangerous man's eyes. "But. . . to my great fortune. . . she's decided to settle for me."  
  
Jigoro had nodded at that. "Just so you understand." Adjusting the lapels of his coat, he'd turned to enter the restroom. "Still," he'd admitted, with one hand on the door, "you are, at least, not completely disgraceful."  
  
I guess that's the closest that a man like Jigoro Hakamichi can ever come to admitting he likes me.  
  
\-----  
  
And then there's Shizune.  
  
I'm not certain exactly what the details of the dress she's wearing is: words like "seed pearls," "A-line," and "cathedral train" might as well be Ancient Greek to me. All I know is that I've never seen her looking as beautiful as she does right now. Her long, raven-black hair, which she's been growing out since we left high school, cascades down her back in a jet-black waterfall, shrouded by the thin veil draped over her face and shoulders. A bouquet of white roses is clasped in her gloved hands.  
  
The stereotypical bride on her wedding day walks with her face demurely lowered, blushing with nervousness. Shizune, however, walks with long, confident strides, her chin raised proudly. Her eyes meet mine, and a happy smile quirks her lips. Jigoro reluctantly hands his daughter over to me and gives me a stern nod before taking his seat next to his son. Shizune and I smile at each other as we join hands and look into each other's eyes for a long moment.  
  
Last night, after dinner, we'd snuck out of our hotel rooms and into this garden. We'd sat down together on the dais, looking at the empty chairs lined up, waiting to be filled with hundreds of our friends and family to watch this moment in our lives when we pledged our futures together.  
  
[I can't promise you too much,] I'd admitted, after a long talk about our plans for the future. [High school teachers don't make too much money. But I can promise you that I'll never keep from you anything that's mine, and that I'll never hold back anything that's rightfully ours. I'll never run ahead of you, and I'll never lag behind you, but I'll walk beside you as long as you let me. And if you move ahead of me, I'll chase you until I catch up to you. That's all I want.]  
  
[Then I'll have everything I ever need,] Shizune had said, and the look in her eyes as she held my hand under the starlight was one of pure love.  
  
It's the same look she's giving me now.   
  
I find that I am, at this moment, blissfully happy.  
  
I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I don't know what fears and challenges lie before me. But I do know that no matter what the future holds, there is no one else I'd rather face it with than this woman.  
  
Hand in hand, we turn towards the altar, and take the first step together towards the rest of our lives.  
  
\-----  
  
END


	10. Epilogue: Drabbles from the Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble is a story in 100 words.

“Jigoro Hakamichi,” the man in the black suit says. “I am. . . I am honored and grateful that you have invited me. . . to be here on the wedding day of your daughter. And. . . may their first child be a masculine child.”   
  
[What’s his problem?] Hisao signs to Shizune.   
  
[You really don’t want to know,] Shizune replies.   
  
[No, seriously, tell me.]  
  
[Hisao? Don’t worry about it.]  
  
“Jigoro Hakamichi,” the man repeats to himself. “I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to be here on the wedding day of your daughter. And may their first child be a masculine child. . .”  
  
\-----  
  
“Aren’t you going to go for it?” Miki asks.  
  
“Nah,” Misha says, watching the girls gather under the balcony as Shizune turns her back to them, hefting her bouquet. “I’m honestly not interested. Let them fight over it.”  
  
There is an excited squeal as the bouquet is launched in a high arc over the crowd. A girl grabs at the bouquet, only to have it spin out of control and bounce over the scrum and into the tables.  
  
On instinct, Misha reaches up and snatches the errant bouquet out of the air.  
  
It’s another half hour before Miki stops laughing.  
  
\-----  
  
[Did you know that Hideaki has a fan club at his high school?] Shizune signs.  
  
[Don’t tell him about that!] Hideaki protests. [It’s embarrassing!]  
  
[All of the girls in his high school sneak pictures of him while he’s out playing sports at PE. One of them even tried to steal some of his clothes out of his locker. Every time he opens up his shoe locker, there’s at least three love letters in there.]  
  
[Disgraceful! You should be focusing on your studies, not allowing yourself to be distracted by young women with no morals! It makes me sick!]  
  
[Relax, Dad. . .]  
  
\-----  
  
I’ve known Hisao Nakai for a long time. I still remember the day he came to Yamaku High School. I had no idea who this depressed looking guy in the room across from mine was. Eventually, I found out: Hisao Nakai is a true brother and a good friend.  
  
As for Shizune, she’s a scary fucking bitch. Seriously, you can’t trust women at all, and Shizune is a perfect example of that. Look at that cool stoicism, that silent anger. How come she doesn’t talk? What’s she hiding? Hey, let me go! I’m trying to offer a fucking toast here. . .  
  
\-----  
  
[This is a terrible idea.]  
  
[It’ll be fun. Trust me.]  
  
[We’re going to get caught.]  
  
[There’s no one here. All the classes are out for spring break.]  
  
[This is still a bad idea. What if a janitor catches us, or someone comes looking for us?]  
  
[Then we’d better get started soon, so we can get done before someone comes looking.]  
  
[If you’re okay with a quickie, sure. . . Wow. . . The student council room’s gotten fancier since we left.]  
  
[Hurry, up, time’s a wasting.]  
  
[Just remember to lock the door this time, dear.]  
  
[Shut up and help me take off these panties.]


End file.
